J 


erle's  Crusade 


BY  ROSA  NOICHETTE  CAREY 


UC-NRLF 


THE    SAVOY    SERIES. 


•;il)s<M-ipti<.n.  $lf,jtu  per  Year. 

by   (ieor^  .Mnnro's 


New  York : 
GEORGE   MUNRO'S  SONS, 

Publishers, 
17  to  27  Vandewater  Street. 


-? 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE 


m 
8OSA  NOUCHETTE  CARB¥ 


FEW  YORK: 
MUNRO'S   SONS,    PUBLISHES^ 

7  TO  rx  VANDKWATKK  STREET 


1905. 


THE  MOTHER'S  MISSION. 

1840.  A  great  Emperor  once 

asked  one  of  his  noble 
subjects  what  would  se- 
cure his  country  the  first 
place  among  the  nations 
of  the  earth.  The  noble- 
man's grand  reply  was, 
"Good  mothers."  Now, 
what  constitutes  a  good 
mother?  The  answer  is 
conclusive :  She  who, 
regarding  the  future 
welfare  of  her  child, 
seeks  every  available 
means  that  may  offer  to  promote  a  sound  physical  development,  to 
the  end  that  her  offspring  may  not  be  deficient  in  any  single  faculty 
with  which  nature  has  endowed  it.  In  infancy  there  is  no  period 
Tviiich  is  more  likely  to  affect  the  future  disposition  of  the  child 
than  that  of  teething,  producing  as  it  does  fretfulness,  moroseness 
H  mind,  etc.,  which  if  not  checked  will  manifest  itself  in  after  days, 

USE   MRS.  WINSLOW'S    SOOTHING   SYRUP, 

FOR  CVEB,  SIXTY  YEARS 

An  Old  and  Well-Tried   Remedy. 

MRS.  WINSLOW'S  SOO-YHIKi*  SYRUP  has  been  used  for  over 

SIXTY  YEARS  by  MILLIONS  of  MOTHERS  for  r.hrir  CHILDREN  WHILE 

TEETHING,  WITH  PERFECT  .<  >OTHES  the  CHILD,  SOFT- 

ENS  the  GUMS,  ALT, AYS  a  I!  PA]  s:  CURES  AY  I  NT)  COLIC,  and  is  the  best 

re:ne,l>  for  DIARi  it-;  in  evorv  part  of  the  world      Be 

/.d  ask  for   MRS.  WINSLOW'S   SOOTHING-  8YBTTP,  and 

other  kind. 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  VALLEY   OF   HUMILIATION. 

1  may  be  a  little  old-fashioned  in  my  notions; 
middle-aged  people  never  adjust  their  ideas  quite  in  har- 
mony with  you  young  folk,  but  in  my  day  we  never  paused 
to  count  fifty  at  a  full  stop. " 

Aunt  Agatha's  voice  startled  me  with  its  reproachful 
irritability.  Well,  I  had  deserved  that  little  sarcasm,  for  I 
must  confess  that  1  had  been  reading  very  carelessly.  My 
favorite  motto  was  ringing  in  my  ears,  Laborare  est  orare. 

Somehow  the  words  had  set  themselves  to  resonant 
music  in  my  brain;  it  Deemed  as  though  I  were  chanting 
them  inwardly  all  the  time  1  was  climbing  down  the  steep 
hill  with  Christiana  and  her  boys.  Laborare  est  orare. 
And  this  is  what  I  was  reading  on  that  still,  snowy  Sunday 
afternoon:  "'But  we  will  come  again  to  this  Valley  of 
Humiliation.  It  is  the  best  and  most  fruitful  piece  of 
ground  in  all  these  parts.  It  is  a  fat  ground,  and,  as  you 
see,  consisteth  much  in  meadows,  and  if  a  man  was  to 
come  here  in  tlw  summer-time  as  we  do  now,  if  he  knew 
not  anything  before  thereof,  and  if  he  delighted  himself  in 
the  sight  of  his  eyes,  he  might  see  that  which  would  be 
delightful  to  him.  Behold  how  green  this  valley  is,  also 
how  beautiful  with  lilies!  1  have  known  many  laboring 
men  that  have  got  good  estates  in  this  Valley  of  Humilia- 
tion.' " 

97G340 


8  MERLE'S  CTUJSADIC. 


Agatha,  my  dear  father's  only  sister,  and  I  detested  TTnck 
Keith  with  a  perfectly  unreasonable  detestation, 

Aunt  Agatha  had  been  a  governess  all  her  life.  Cer- 
tainly the  Fenton  family  had  not  much  to  boast  of  in  the 
way  of  wealth.  Pedigree  and  poverty  are  not  altogether 
pleasant  yoke  fellows.  It  may  be  comfortable  to  one's 
feelings  to  know  that  a  certain  progenitor  of  ours  made 
boots  at  the  time  of  the  Conquest,  though  I  am  never 
quite  sure  in  my  mind  that  they  had  boot-makers  then; 
but  my  historical  knowledge  was  always  defective.  But  a 
little  money  is  also  pleasant;  indeed,  if  the  pedigree  and 
the  money  came  wooing  to  me,  and  I  had  to  choose  be- 
tween them  —  well,  perhaps  I  had  better  hold  my  tongue 
on  that  subject;  for  what  is  the  good  of  shocking  people  un- 
less one  has  a  very  good  reason  for  doing  so? 

My  father's  pedigree  did  not  help  him  into  good  prac- 
tice, and  he  died  young  —  a  grave  mistake,  people  tell  me, 
for  a  professional  man  to  commit.  My  mother  was  very 
pretty  and  very  helpless,  but  then  she  had  a  pedigree  too, 
and,  probably,  that  forbade  her  to  soil  her  white  hands. 
She  was  a  fine  lady,  with  more  heart  than  head,  which  she 
had  lost  most  unwisely  to  the  handsome  young  doctor. 
After  his  death,  she  made  futile  efforts  for  her  child  's 
sake,  but  the  grinding  wheel  of  poverty  caught  the  poor 
butterfly  and  crushed  her  to  death. 

My  poor  tender-hearted,  unhappy  mother!  Well,  the 
world  is  a  cruel  place  to  these  soft,  unprotected  natures. 

I  should  have  fared  badly  but  for  Aunt  Agatha;  her 
hardly  earned  savings  were  all  spent  on  my  education. 
She  was  a  clever,  highly  educated  woman,  and  command- 
ed good  salaries,  and  out  of  this  she  contrived  to  board 
and  maintain  me  at  a  school  until  she  married,  and  Uncle 
Keith  promised  that  I  should  share  their  hoine. 

I  never  could  understand  why  Aunt  Agatha  married 
him.  Perhaps  she  was  tired  of  the  drudgery  of  tenchingj 
at  forty-five  one  may  grow  a  little  weary  of  one's  work, 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  9 

Perhaps  she  wanted  a  ho/ne  for  her  old  age,  and  was  tired 
of  warming  herself  at  other  people's  fires,  and  preferred  a 
chimney  corner  of  her  own;  but,  strange  to  say,  she  always 
scouted  these  two  notions  with  the  utmost  indignation. 

"I  married  your  uncle,  Merle,"  she  would  say,  with 
great  dignity,  "  because  he  convinced  me  that  he  was  the 
right  person  for  me  to  marry.  I  have  no  more  idea  than 
you  how  he  contrived  to  instill  this  notion  into  my  head, 
for  though  I  am  a  plain  body  and  never  had  any  beauty,  1 
must  own  1  liked  tall,  good-looking  men.  But  there,  my 
dear,  I  lived  forty -five  years  in  the  world  without  three 
things  very  common  in  women's  lives — without  beauty, 
without  love,  and  without  discontent."  And  in  this  last 
clause  she  was  certainly  right.  Aunt  Agatha  was  the  most 
contented  creature  in  the  world. 

If  Uncle  Keith — for  never,  never  would  I  call  him 
Uncle  Ezra,  even  had  he  asked  me  as  a  personal  favor  to 
do  so — if  Uncle  Keith  had  been  rich,  I  could  have  under- 
stood the  marriage  better,  being  rather  a  mercenary  and 
far-sighted  young  person,  but  he  had  only  a  very  small  in- 
come. He  was  managing  clerk  in  some  mercantile  house, 
and,  being  a  thrifty  soul,  invested  'ail  his  spare  cash  in- 
stead of  spending  it. 

Aunt  Agatha  had  lived  in  grand  houses  ail  her  life,  but 
she  was  quite  content  with  the  little  cottage  at  Putney  to 
which  her  husband  took  her.  They  only  kept  one  servant; 
but  Aunt  Agatha  proved  herself  to  be  a  notable  house- 
keeper. She  arranged  and  rearranged  the  old-fashioned 
furniture  that  had  belonged  to  Uncle  Keith's  mother  until 
sho  had  made  quite  a  charming  drawing-room;  but  that 
was  just  her  way;  she  had  clever  brains  and  clever  fingers, 
and  to  manipulate  old  materials  into  new  fashions  was  just 
play-work  to  her. 

P.ul  for  in u,  1  am  perfectly  convinced  that.  Aunt  Agutlm 
would  have  eailt.-d  lu-i-sdf  llu-  ktppie.-t.  u  vimui  in  the  world, 


10  MERLE 'S    CRUSADE. 

pie  elect  to  live  together,  the  success  of  the  scheme  da« 
mands  that  one  of  the  three  should  not  smile  sourly  on  all 
occasions. 

For  two  whole  years  I  tried  to  be  amiable  when  Uncle 
Keith  was  in  the  room,  and  at  last  gave  up  the  attempt  in 
despair,  baffled  by  my  own  evil  tempers,  and  yet  I  will  say 
1  was  not  a  bad-tempered  girl.  I  must  have  had  good  in 
me,  or  Aunt  Agatha  would  not  have  been  so  fond  of  me. 
I  call  that  a  real  crucial  test  —  other  people's  fondnes* 
for  us. 

Why  is  it  so  difficult  to  get  on  with  some  folk,  very 
worthy  people  in  their  way? 

Why  do  some  people  invariably  rub  up  one's  fur  until  it 
bristles  with  discomfort?  Why  do  these  same  thoroughly 
estimable  creatures  bring  a  sort  of  moral  east  wind  with 
them,  scarifying  one's  nerves?  Surely  it  is  beneath  the 
dignity  of  a  human  being  to  be  rasped  by  a  harsh,  drawl- 
ing voice,  or  offended  by  trifling  mannerisms.  Uncle 
Keith  was  just  like  one  of  my  sums — you  might  add  him 
up,  subtract  from  him,  divide  or  multiply  him,  but  he 
would  never  come  right  in  the  end;  one  always  reckoned 
that  he  was  more  or  less  than  he  was.  He  was  a  little, 
pale,  washed-out-looking  man,  with  sandy  hair  and  promi- 
nent brown  eyes.  Being  an  old  bachelor  when  he  married 
Aunt  Agatha,  he  had  very  precise,  formal  ways,  and  was 
methodical  and  punctual  to  a  fault.  Next  to  Uncle  Keith, 
I  hated  that  white-faced  watch  of  his.  *- 1  hated  the  slow, 
ponderous  way  in  which  he  drew  it  from  his  pocket,  and 
produced  it  for  my  special  benefit. 

I  have  said  that  my  detestation  of  Uncle  Keith  was 
somewhat  unreasonable.  I  must  own  I  had  no  grave  rea- 
sons for  my  dislike.  Uncle  Keith  had  a  good  moral  char- 
acter; he  was  a  steady  church-goer,  was  painstaking  and 
abstemious;  never  put  himself  in  a  passion,  or,  indeed, 
lost  his  temper  for  it  minute;  but  how  was  a  girl  to  toler- 
ate a  man  who  spent  five,  Jttiu  rites  scraping  his  boots  before 


CRUSADE.  11 

he  entered  his  own  door,  whatever  the  weathei  might  be; 
who  said,  "  Hir-rumph  "  (humph  was  what  he  meant)  be- 
fore every  sentence,  booming  at  one  like  a  great  bee;  who 
always  prefaced  a  lecture  with  a  "  my  dear;"  who  would 
not  read  a  paper  until  it  was  warmed;  who  would  burn 
every  cinder  before  fresh  coals  were  allowed  on  the  fire; 
who  looked  reproachfully  at  my  crumbs  (I"  crumbled  my 
bread  purposely  at  last),  and  scooped  them  carefully  in  his 
hand  for  the  benefit  of  the  birds,  with  the  invariable  re- 
mark, "  Waste  not,  want  not  " — a  saying  I  learned  to  de- 
test. 

I  suppose  if  we  are  ever  admitted  into  heaven  we  shall 
find  very  odd  people  there;  but  perhaps  they  will  have 
dropped  their  trying  ways  and  peculiarities,  as  the  chrysa- 
lis drops  its  case,  and  may  develop  all  sorts  of  new  pris- 
matic glories.  I  once  heard  a  lady  say  that  she  was  afraid 
the  society  there  would  be  rather  mixed;  she  was  a  very 
exclusive  person;  but  Solomon  tells  us  that  there  is  noth- 
ing new  under  the  sun,  so  I  suppose  we  shall  never  be 
without  our  modern  Pharisees  and  Sadducees.  The  grand 
idea  to  me  is  that  there  will  be  room  for  all.  I  do  not 
know  when  the  idea  first  came  to  me  that,  it  was  a  mean 
thing  to  live  under  a  man's  roof,  eating  his  bread  and 
warming  one's  self  at  his  fire,  and  all  the  time  despising 
him  in  one's  heart.  I  only  know  that  one  day  the  idea 
took  possession  of  me,  and,  like  an  Eastern  mustard  seed, 
grew  and  flourished.  Soon  after  that  Uncle  Keith  had 
rather  a  serious  loss — some  mercantile  venture  in  which  he^ 
was  interested  had  come  to  grief.  1  began  to  notice  small 
retrenchments  in  the  household;  certain  little  luxuries 
were  given  up.  Now  and  then  Aunt  Agatha  grew  a  little 
grave  as  she  balanced  her  weekly  accounts.  One  night  1 
took  myself  to  task. 

l<  What  business  have  you,  a  strong,  healthy  young 
woman,"  I  observed  to  myself^  severely,  "  to  be  a  burden 
on  these  good  folk?  ^6»t  is  enough  for  two  may  be  a 


12 

tight  fit  for  three;  it  was  that  new  mantle  of  yours,  Miss 
Miirio,  that  has  put  out  the  drawing-room  fire  for  three 
weeks,  and  has  shut  up  the  sherry  in  the  sideboard.  Is  it 
fair  or  right  that  Aunt  Agatha  and  Uncle  Keith  should 
forego  their  little  comforts  just  because  an  idle  girl  is  on 
their  hands ?" 

1  pondered  this  question  heavily  before  1  summoned 
courage  to  speak  to'  Aunt  Agatha.  To  my  surprise  she 
listened  to  me  very  quietly,  though  her  soft  brown  eyes 
grew  a  little  misty — I  did  so  love  Aunt  Agatha's  eyes. 

"  Dear,"  she  said,  very  gently,  "  I  wish  this  could  have 
been  prevented;  but,  for  my  husband's  sake,  1  dare  not 
throw  cold  water  on  your  plan.  I  can  not  deny  that  he 
has  had  a  heavy  loss,  and  that  we  have  to  be  very  careful. 
I  would  keep  you  with  me  if  I  could,  Merle,  for  you  are 
just  like  my  own  child,  but  Ezra  is  not  young;"  and  here 
Aunt  Agatha's  forehead  grew  puckered  with  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Agatha,"  I  exclaimed,  quite  forgetting  the 
gravity  of  my  proposition  in  sudden,  childish  annoyance, 
"how  can  you  call  Uncle  Keith,  Ezra?  It  is  such  a 
hideous  name. "  » 

"  Not  to  my  ears/'  she  answered,  quite  calmly;  "  a  wife 
never  thinks  her  husband's  name  hideous.  He  loves  to 
hear  me  say  it,  and  I  love  to  please  him,  for  though  you 
may  not  believe  it,  Merle,  I  think  there  are  very  few  men 
to  compare  with  your  uncle." 

She  could  actually  say  this  to  my  face,  looking  at  me  all 
the  time  with  those  honest  eyes!  I  could  not  forbear  a  lit- 
tle shrug  at  this,  but  she  turned  the  subject,  placidly,  but 
with  much  dignity. 

' '  I  have  been  a  working  bee  all  my  life,  and  have  been 
quite  contented  with  my  lot;  if  you  could  only  follow  my 
example,  I  should  be  perfectly  willing  to  let  you  go.  I 
have  thought  once  or  twice  lately  that  if  anything  were  te 
happen  to  me,  you  and  your  uncle  would  hardly  be  com- 


MERLE'S    CEUSADE.  1 3 

fortable  together;  you  do  not  study  him  sufficiently;  you 
have  no  idea  what  he  really  is." 

I  thought  it  better  to  remain  silent. 

Aunt  Agatha  sighed  a  little  as  she  went  on. 

"  1  am  not  afraid  of  work  for  you,  Merle;  there  is  no 
life  without  activity.  'The  idle  man/ as  some  one  ob- 
serves, '  spins  on  his  own  axis  in  the  dark/  '  A  man  of 
mere  capacity  undeveloped/  as  Emerson  says,  '  is  only  ati 
organized  day-dream  with  a  skin  on  it/  Just  listen  to 
this,''  opening  a  book  that  lay  near  her.  "  •  Action  and 
enjoyment  aie  contingent  upon  each  other.  When  we  are 
unfit  for  work  we  are  always  incapable  of  pleasure;  work 
is  the  wooing  by  which  happiness  is  won. ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,"  1  returned,  rather  impatiently,  for  Aunt 
Agatha,  with  all  her  perfections,  was  too  much  given  to 
proverbial  and  discursive  philosophy;  "  but  to  reduce  this 
to  practice,  what  work  can  I  do  in  this  weary  world?" 

i  You  can  not  be  a  governess,  not  even  a  nursery  gov- 
erness, Merle;"  and  here  Aunt  Agatha  looked  at  me  very 
gently,  as  though  she  knew  her  words  must  give  me  pain, 
and  suddenly  my  cheeks  grew  hot  and  my  eyelids  drooped. 
Alas!  I  knew  too  well  what  Aunt  Agatha  meant;  this  was 
a  sore  point,  the  great  difficulty  and  stumbling-block  of 
my  young  life. 

1  had  been  well  taught  in  a  good  school;  I  had  had  un- 
usual advantages,  for  Aunt  Agatha  was  an  accomplished 
and  clever  woman,  and  spared  no  pains  with  me  in  her 
leisure  hours;  but  by  some  freak  of  nature,  not  such  an 
unusual  thing  as  people  would  have  us  believe,  from  some 
want  of  power  in  the  brain — at  least,  so  a  clever  man  has 
since  told  me — I  was  unable  to  master  more  than  the  rudi- 
ments of  spelling. 

T  know  some  people  would  liiugh  incredulously  at  this, 
font  the  fjict  will  remain. 

As  a  child   I   had   lain  sol.  my  bed,  beaten  down 

•;|--?h   ot  iiuuiiii  iri:vl)lo  t<- 


14  MEKLE'S  i  CEUSADB. 

mifc  the  column  of  double  syllables  to  memory,  and  hare 
only  been  comforted  by  Aunt  Agatha's  patience  and  gen- 
tleness. 

At  school  I  had  a  severer  ordeal.  For  a  long  time  my 
teachers  refused  to  admit  my  incapacity;  they  preferred 
attributing  it  to  idleness,,  stubbornness,  and  want  of 
attention;  even  Aunt  Agatha  was  puzzled  by  it,  for  I  was 
a  quick  child  in  other  things,  could  draw  very  well  for  my 
age,  and  could  accomplish  wonders  in  needle-work,  was  a 
fair  scholar  in  history  and  geography,  soon  acquired  a  good 
French  accent,  and  did  some  of  my  lessons  most  creditably. 

But  the  construction  of  words  baffles  me  to  this  day.  I 
should  be  unwilling  to  write  the  simplest  letter  without  a 
dictionary  lying  snugly  near  my  hand.  I  have  learned  to 
look  my  misfortune  in  the  face,  and  to  bear  it  with  toler- 
able grace.  With  my  acquaintances  it  is  a  standing  joke, 
with  my  nearest  and  dearest  friends  it  is  merely  an  oppor- 
tunity for  kindly  service  and  offers  to  write  from  my 
dictation,  but  when  I  was  growing  into  womanhood  it  was 
a  bitter  and  most  shameful  trial  to  me,  one  secretly 
lamented  with  hot  tears  arid  with  a  most  grievous  sense  of 
humiliation. 

"  No/'  Aunt  Agatha  repeated,  in  the  old  pitying  voice 
I  knew  so  well,  ' c  you  can  not  be  even  a  nursery  governess, 
Merle." 

"  Nor  a  companion  either/'  1  exclaimed,  bitterly.  "  Old 
ladies  want  letters  written  for  them." 

'  That  is  very  true/'  she  replied,  shaking  her  head. 

"  I  could  be  a  nurse  in  a  hospital— in  fact,  that  is  what 
I  should  like,  but  the  training  could  not  be  afforded;  it 
would  be  a  pound  a  week,  Aunt  Agatha,  and  there  would 
be  my  uniform  and  other  expenses,  and  I  should  not  get 
the  smallest  salary  for  at  least  two  or  three  years. " 

"  I  am  afraid  we  must  not  think  of  that,  Merle;"  and 
then  I  relapsed  into  silence  from  sheer  sadness  of  heart. 
I  had  always  so  longed  to  be  trained  in  a  hospital,  and  then 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  15 

I  could  nurse  wounded  soldiers  or  little  children.     I  always 
loved  little  children. 

But  this  idea  must  be  given  up;  and  yet  it  would  not 
have  mattered  in  a  hospital  if  I  had  spelled  "  all  right " 
with  one  "  1."  I  am  quite  sure  my  bandages  would  have 
been  considered  perfect,  and  that  would  have  been  more  to 
the  point. 

CHAPTER  II. 

AN   UNPREACHED   SERMON". 

SUCH  an  odd  thing  happened  a  few  minutes  afterward. 
I  was  sitting  quite  quietly  in  my  corner,  turning  over  in 
my  mind  all  the  arguments  with  which  I  had  assailed  Aunt 
Agatha  that  Sunday  afternoon,  and  watching  the  pink 
glow  of  the  fire-light  in  contrast  to  the  whiteness  of  the 
snow  outside,  when  the  door  bell  rang,  and  almost  the 
next  moment  Uncle  Keith  came  into  the  room. 

I  suppose  he  must  have  overlooked  me  entirely,  for  he 
went  up  to  Aunt  Agatha  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

*'  Sweetheart/'  he  said,  taking  her  hand,  and  I  should 
hardly  have  recognized  his  voice,  "  I  have  been  thinking 
about  you  all  the  way  home,  and  what  a  pleasant  sight  my 
wife's  face  would  be  after  my  long  walk  through  the  snow 
and — "  But  here  Aunt  Agatha  must  have  given  him  a 
warning  look,  for  he  stopped  rather  abruptly  and  said, 
"  Hir-rumph  "  twice  over,  and  Aunt  Agatha  blushed  just 
as  though  she  were  a  girl. 

I  could  not  help  laughing  a  little  to  myself  as  I  went 
out  of  the  room  to  tell  Patience  to  bring  in  the  tea,  and 
yet  that  sentence  of  .Uncle  Keith's  touched  me  somehow. 
Were  middle-aged  people  capable  of  that  sort  of  love? 
Did  youth  linger  so  long  in  them?  I  had  imagined  those 
two  such  a  staid,  matter-of-fact  couple;  they  had  come 
'her  so  late  in  life  that  one  never  dreamed  of  any  pos- 
sible romance  in  such  &  courtship',  ***&  yet  he  could  call 


16  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

Aunt  Agatha  "  Sweetheart "  in  a  voice  that  was  not  the 
least  drawling.  At  that  moment  one  would  not  have 
called  him  so  plain  and  insignificant  with  that  kind  look 
on  his  face.  1  suppose  he  keeps  that  look  for  Aunt 
Agatha,  for  1  remember  she  once  told  me  that  she  had 
never  seen  such  a  good  face  as  Uncle  Keith's,  "  not  hand- 
some, Merle,  but  so  thoroughly  good." 

Patience  was  toasting  the  muffins  in  her  bright  little 
kitchen,  so  I  sat  down  and  watched  her.  1  was  rather 
partial  to  Patience;  she  was  a  pretty,  neat-looking  creat- 
ure, and  I  always  thought  it  a  great  pity  that  she  was  en- 
gaged to  a  journeyman  boot-maker,  who  aspired  to  be  a 
preacher.  I  never  could  approve  of  Reuben  Locke,  though 
Aunt  Agatha  spoke  well  of  him;  he  was  such  a  weak, 
pale-faced  young  man;  and  I  think  a  man,  to  be  one, 
ought  to  have  some  spirit  in  him,  and  not  possess  only  the 
womanish  virtues. 

"  How  is  Reuben,  Patience?"  1  asked,  somewhat  amia- 
bly, just  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  our  little  handmaid's 
dimples  come  into  view. 

"  Reuben's  but  poorly,  miss,"  replied  Patience,  as  she 
buttered  another  smoking  muffin,  the  last  of  the  pile. 
"  He  was  preaching  at  Whitechapel  the  other  night,  and 
caught  a  cold  and  sore  throat;  his  mother  says  he  will  not 
be  at  chapel  to-night. " 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  street  preaching  myself,"  1  re* 
marked,  a  little  severely. 

"  Indeed,  miss,"  replied  Patience,  innocently,  as  sh« 
prepared  to  carry  in  the  tea-tray.  ' '  Reuben  always  tells 
me  that  the  apostles  were  street  preachers,  and  Reuben  is 
as  clear  as  Gospel  in  what  he  says. "  But  here  the  draw- 
ing-room bell  broke  off  Patience's  argument,  and  left  me 
somewhat  worsted.  1  went  to  church  by  myself  that  even- 
ing, and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  heard  very  little  of  the  ser- 
mon. I  knew  Aunt  Agatha  would  be  taking  advantage  of 
my 'ong  absence  1°  rotnil  \vhftt  Rh<>  formed  my  prep 


MERLE'S    CRUSADB.  It 

ous  scneme  to  Uncle  Keith,  and  that  1  should  have  the 
oenefit  of  his  opinion  on  my  return,  and  this  thought  made 
me  restless. 

I  was  not  wrong  in  my  surmise.  Aunt  Agatha  looked 
a  little  pale  and  subdued,  as  though  she  had  been  shedding 
a  few  tears  over  my  delinquencies,  but  Uncle  Keith  was 
simply  inscrutable;  when  he  chose,  his  face  could  present 
a  perfect  blank. 

"  Hir-rumph,  my  dear,  what  is  this  your  aunt  tells  me, 
that  you  are  going  to  Prince's  Gate  to-morrow  morning  to 
offer  your  services  as  nurse  in  a  gentleman's  family?" 

4 *  Yes,  Uncle  Keith." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  seriously  that  you  have  reallj 
made  up  your  mind  to  take  this  step?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  quite  serious,  I  assure  you." 

"  Your  aunt's  objections  and  mine  do  not  count  foe 
much,  then?" 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  go  against  your  wishes  or  Aunt 
Agatha's,"  I  returned,  trying  to  keep  cool;  but  his  man- 
ner, as  usual,  aggravated  me;  it  saM  so  plainly,  "  What  a 
silly  child  you  are,  and  yet  you  think  yourself  a  woman!" 
"  but  1  must  do  as  1  think  right  in  this  matter.  1  hope 
to  prove  to  you  and  every  one  else  that  there  is  nothing 
derogatory  in  the  work  1  mean  to  undertake.  It  is  not 
what  1  would  choose,  perhaps,  but  everything  else  is  closed 
to  me;"  thinking  sorrowfully  of  my  life-long  misfortune, 
as  I  always  called  it,  and  my  repressed  longings  for  hos 
pital  training. 

"  Perhaps  if  you  waited  something  else  might  turn  up.*' 
But  I  shook  my  head  at  this, 

"  I  have  waited  too  long  already,  Uncle  Keith;  idleness 
soon  becomes  a  habit." 

"  Then  if  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  it  is  useless  to 
try  and  alter  it,"  returned  Uncle  Keith,  in  a  slight^v 
ironical  tone;  and  he  actually  took  up  the  volume  he  waa 
reading  in  a  way  thai  showed  he  had  dismissed  the  subject 


18  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 


never  more  astonished  in  my  life;  never  had  Unofc 

Keith  so  completely  baffled  me. 

1  had  spent  the  whole  time  during  which  I  ought  to  have 
been  listening  to  the  sermon  in  recapitulating  the  heads  of 
my  arguments  in  favor  of  this  very  scheme;  I  would  show 
Uncle  Keith  how  clearly  and  logically  I  could  work  out 
the  suoject. 

I  had  thought  out  quite  an  admirable  little  essay  on 
feminine  work  in  the  nineteenth  century  by  the  time  Mr. 
Wright  had  finished  his  discourse.  I  meant  to  have  cited 
the  Challoners  as  an  example.  Aunt  Agatha  had  stayed 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Oldfield  just  before  her  marriage, 
and  had  often  paid  visits  at  Longmead  and  Glen  Cottage. 

The  eldest  Miss  Challoner  —  Nan,  I  think  they  called  her 
—was  just  preparing  for  her  own  wedding,  and  Aunt 
Agatha  often  told  me  what  a  beautiful  girl  she  was,  and 
what  a  fine,  intelligent  creature  the  second  sister  Phillis 
seemed.  She  was  engaged  to  a  young  clergyman  at  Had- 
leigh,  and  there  had  been  some  talk  of  a  double  wedding, 
only  Nan's  father-in-law,  Mr.  Mayne,  of  Longmead,  had 
been  rather  cross  at  the  notion,  so  Phillis  's  was  to  be  post- 
poned until  the  autumn. 

All  the  neighborhood  of  Oldfield  had  been  ringing  with 
the  strange  exploits  of  these  young  ladies.  One  little  fact 
had  leaked  out  after  another;  it  was  said  their  own  cousin, 
Sir  Henry  Challoner,  of  Gilsbank,  had  betrayed  the  secret, 
though  he  always  vowed  his  wife  had  a  hand,  or  rather  a 
tongue,  in  the  business;  but  anyhow,  there  was  a  fine  nine- 
days'  gossip  over  the  matter. 

It  seemed  that  some  time  previously  Mrs.  Challoner  and 
her  three  daughters  had  sustained  severe  losses,  and  the 
three  girls,  instead  of  losing  courage,  had  put  their  shoul- 
ders to  the  wheel,  and  had  actually  set  up  as  dress-makers 
it  Hadleigh,  carrying  on  their  business  in  a  most  masterly 
fashion,  until  the  unexpected  return  of  their  relative,  Sir 
Harry  Challoner,  from  Australia,  with  plenty  of  money  at 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  19 

bis  disposal,  broke  up  the  dress-making  business,  and  rein- 
stated them  at  Glen  Cottage. 

A  few  of  their  friends  had  been  much  offended  with 
them,  but  as  it  was  understood  that  Lady  Fitzroy  had 
spoken  warmly  of  their  moral  courage  and  perseverance, 
it  had  become  the  fashion  to  praise  them.  Aunt  Agatha 
had  often  quoted  them  to  me,  saying  she  had  never  met 
more  charming  girls,  and  adding  more  than  once  how 
thoroughly  she  respected  their  independence;  and  of  course 
in  recalling  the  Challoners  I  thought  I  should  "have  added 
my  crowning  argument. 

There  was  so  much,  too,  that  I  longed  to  say  in  favor  of 
my  theory.  The  love  of  little  children  was  very  strong 
with  me.  1  had  often  been  pained  as  I  walked  through 
the  streets  at  seeing  tired  children  dragged  along  or  shaken 
angrily  by  some  coarse,  uneducated  nurse.  It  had  always 
seemed  rather  a  pitiful  idea  to  me  that  children  from  their 
infancy  should  be  in  hourly  contact  with  rough,  menial 
natures.  "  Surely/'  1  would  say  to  myself,  "  the  moth- 
er's place  must  be  in  her  nursery;  she  can  find  no  higher 
duty  than  this,  to  watch  over  her  little  ones;  even  if  her 
position  or  rank  hinder  her  constant  supervision,  why  need 
she  relegate  her  maternal  duties  to  uneducated  women? 
Are  there  no  poor  gentlewomen  in  the  world  who  would 
gladly  undertake  such  a  work  from  very  love,  and  who 
would  refuse  to  believe  for  one  moment  they  were  losing 
caste  in  discharging  one  of  the  holiest  and  purest  duties  in 
life? 

:<  What  an  advantage  to  the  children/ '  1  imagined  my« 
self  saying  in  answer  to  some  objection  on  Uncle  Keith's 
part,  never  dreaming  that  all  this  eloquence  would  be 
silenced  by  masculine  cunning.  "What  an  advantage  to 
these  little  creatures  to  hear  English  pure  and  undefiled 
from  their  cradles,  and  to  be  trained  to  habits  of  refine- 
ment and  good  manners  by  merely  instinctively  following 
the  example  before  their  eves.  Children  are  such  copyists, 


$1)  MERLE'S    CBITSADB. 

0ne  sliudde  *  to  think  of  these  impressionable  fit 

being  pern  Jtted  by  their  natural  guardians  to  take  their 

earliest  lessons  from  some  uneducated  person. 

"  Women  are  crying  out  for  work,  Uncle  Keith/*  I 
continued,  carrying  my  warfare  into  a  fresh  quarter;  but, 
alas!  this,  with  the  rest  of  iny  eloquence,  died  a  natural 
death  on  my  way  home.  "  There  are  too  many  of  the 
poor  things  in  this  world,  and.  the  female  market  is  over- 
stocked. They  are  invading  telegraph  offices,  and  tread- 
ing on  the  heels  of  business  men,  but  sheer  pride  and 
stupidity  prevent  them  from  trying  to  open  nursery  doors. 

"  Unlady-like  to  be  a  servant,"  another  imaginary  ob- 
jection on  Uncle  Keith's  part.  "  Oh,  fy)  Uncle  Keith! 
this  from  you,  who  read  your  Bible  and  go  to  church?  and 
yet  I  remember  a  certain  passage,  '  Whosoever  will  be 
chief  among  you  let  him  be  your  servant,'  which  has  hal- 
lowed the  very  idea  of  service  ever  since. 

"To  serve  others  seems  the  very  meaning  of  woman- 
hood; in  some  sense,  a  woman  serves  all  the  days  of  her 
life.  !No.  lam  not  far-fetched  and  unpractical."  An- 
other supposed  masculine  tirade.  "  I  have  thought  over 
the  whole  thing  most  carefully.  I  am  not  only  working 
for  myself,  but  for  others.  I  want  to  open  the  eyes  of  my 
generation,  and,  like  the  Challoners,  to  lead  a  new  crusade 
against  the  mighty  sham  of  conventionality.  Understand 
me,  Uncle  Keith,  I  do  not  say  to  these  young  gentle- 
women, '  Put  your  pride  in  your  pocket,  and  wheel  your 
perambulator  with  the  twins,  or  carry  the  baby  into  the 
park  before  the  eyes  of  your  aristocratic  acquaintance;  that 
would  be  unnecessary  and  foolish;  you  may  leave  that  part 
to  the  under-nurse,  who  brings  your  meals  and  scours  your 
nurseries;  I  simply  say  to  them,  i  If  you  have  no  capacity 
for  teaching,  if  Nature  has  unfitted  you  for  other  work, 
and  yon  are  too  proud  and  conscientious  to  live  a  dragging, 
dependent  life  under  the  roof  of  some  overburdened  rela- 
tive, take  the  charge  of  some  ai  irfiGoratic  nursery.  Do  not 


think  it  oeneath  your  womanhood  to  teed  and  wash  and 
clothe  an  infant,  or  to  watch  over  weak  toddling  creatures 
Your  work  may  be  humble,  but  you  will  grow  to  love  it, 
and  if  no  one  else  will  put  the  theory  to  the  test,  1,  Merle 
Fenton,  will  do  so,  though  I  must  take  the  plunge  unaided 
and  alone. 9 " 

But  all  these  feeling  observations  were  locked  up  in  my 
own  inner  consciousness,  for  during  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  Uncle  Keith  simply  ignored  the  subject,  and  read 
his  book  with  a  pretense  of  being  perfectly  absorbed  in  it, 
though  I  am  certain  that  his  eyes  twinkled  mischievously 
whenever  he  looked  in  my  direction,  as  though  he  were 
quite  aware  of  my  flood  of  repressed  oratory. 

1  determined  to  have  it  out  with  Aunt  Agatha,  so  I  fol- 
lowed her  into  her  room,  and  asked  her  in  a  peevish  voice 
what  she  meant  by  saying  Uncle  Keith  would  be  so  angry 
with  me,  as  he  had  not  raised  a  single  objection;  and,  of 
course,  as  silence  meant  consent,  I  should  most  certainly 
keep  my  appointment  at  Prince's  Gate. 

Aunt  Agatha  looked  a  little  distressed  as  she  answered 
me. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Merle,  I  did  not  quite  under- 
stand your  uncle  myself;  I  expected  a  very  different  recep- 
tion of  my  news." 

*'  Tell  me  all  about  it  from  the  very  beginning,"  I  re 
turned,  eagerly.     "  Patience  has  made  such  a  nice  fire,  be- 
cause she  said  she  was  ufraid  you  had  a  cold,  and  I  can  just 
sit  by  it  and  brush  out  my  hair  while  we  talk." 

"  But  I  am  tired  and  sleepy,  child,  and  after  all  there  is 
not  much  to  tell,"  objected  Aunt  Agatha;  but  she  was  far 
too  good-natured  to  refuse,  for  all  that,  so  she  seated  her- 
self, dear  soul,  in  the  big  chair — that  she  had  christened 
Idleness — and  tried  to  remember  what  1  wished  to  hear.. 
1  told  him  everything,  Merle;  how  your  one  little  de- 
fect hindered  you,  poor  9hild»  m,m  boing  a  nursery  gov- 


$g  MERLE'S  CBTJSAD&,    . 

erness  or  companion,  and  how,  in  spite  oi  this  serione  oV 
stacle,  you  were  determined  to  work  and  be  independent.  * 

"  Well,  and  did  he  say  nothing  to  all  that?"  I  asked,  fo* 
I  knew  in  what  a  feeling  manner  Aunt  Agatha  would  have 
.described  my  difficulties. 

"  Oh,  yes;  he  said,  '  Poor  little  thing/  in  the  kindest 
possible  way,  '  and  quite  right — v<sry  proper,'  when  I  spoke 
of  your  desire  for  work. " 

"  Well?"  rather  impatiently. 

"  He  listened  very  attentively  until  I  read  him  out  the 
advertisement,  but  that  seemed  to  upset  him,  for  he  burst 
out  laughing,  and  I  thought  he  would  never  stop.  I  was 
half  crying  by  that  time,  for  you  had  worried  me  to  death 
all  the  afternoon,  Merle,  but  nothing  I  could  say  would 
make  him  grave  for  a  long  time.  He  said  once,  '  What 
could  have  put  such  a  thing  into  her  head?'  and  then  he 
laughed  again  as  though  the  idea  amused  him,  and  then  be 
rubbed  his  hands  and  muttered,  l  What  an  original  child  it 
is;  there  is  no  deficiency  of  brain  power,  as  far  as  I  can 
see;  who  would  have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing?"  and  so 
on." 

;<  Then  I  may  flatter  myself  that  Uncle  Keith  approves 
of  my  scheme?"  I  observed,  stiffly,  for  I  was  much  offend- 
ed at  the  idea  of  his  laugh. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no!"  returned  Aunt  Agatha,  in  an  alarmed 
roice,  "  he  expressed  his  disapproval  very  strongly;  he  said 
it  was  all  very  well  in  theory,  and  that,  on  the  whole,  he 
agreed  with  you  that  the  nursery  was  undoubtedly  a  lady- 
like sphere,  but  he  was  far  from  sure  that  your  scheme 
would  be  practical.  He  foresaw  all  kinds  of  difficulties, 
and  that  he  did  not  consider  you  at  all  the  person  for  suck 
a  position." 

"  Why  did  not  Uncle  Keith  say  all  this  to  me  himself?" 
I  demanded. 

"  Because  he  said  it  would  only  be  sowing  the  wind  to 
raise  the  whirlwind.  In  an  argument  he  declares  women 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

always  hare  the  best  of  it,  because  they  can  talk  the  fast- 
est, and  never  will  own  they  are  beaten ;  to  raise  objections 
would  only  be  to  strengthen  you  more  in  your  purpose.  I 
think/'  finished  Aunt  Agatha,  in  her  softest  voice,  "  that 
he  hoped  your  plan  would  die  a  natural  death,  for  he 
recommended  me  to  withdraw  all  opposition." 

Oh,  the  cunning  of  these  men!  I  would  not  have  be- 
lieved all  this  of  Uncle  Keith.  I  was  far  too  angry  to  talk 
any  more  to  Aunt  Agatha;  I  only  commanded  my  voic« 
sufficiently  to  say  that  I  fully  intended  to  keep  my  ap- 
pointment the  next  day;  and  as  she  only  looked  at  me  very 
sadly  and  said  nothing,  I  had  no  excuse  for  lingering  any 
longer,  so  I  took  up  my  candlestick  and  marched  into  my 
own  room. 

It  felt  cold  and  desolate,  and  as  I  sat  down  by  the  toilet, 
table,  such  sad  eyes  looked  into  mine  from  the  depths  of 
the  mirror,  that  a  curious  self-pitying  feeling  made  me 
prop  my  chin  on  my  hands  and  exchange  looks  of  silent 
sympathy  with  my  image. 

My  want  of  beauty  never  troubled  me;  it  has  always 
been  my  private  conviction  that  .we  ought  to  be  thankful  if 
we  are  tolerably  pleasant  in  other  people's  eyes;  beauty  is 
too  rare  a  gift  to  be  often  reproduced.  If  people  thought 
me  nice-looking  I  was  more  than  content;  perhaps  it  was 
surprising  that,  with  such  good  -  looking  parents,  I  was 
just  ordinary  and  nothing  else.  "  But  never  mind,  Merle, 
you  have  a  gopd  figure  and  talking  eyes,"  as  Aunt  Agatha 
once  said  to  me.  "  I  was  much  plainer  at  your  age,  my 
dear,  but  my  plainness  never  prevented  me  from  having  a 
happy  life  and  a  good  husband. " 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  should  like  a  happy  life,  too,  but  as 
for  the  husband — never  dream  of  that,  my  good  girl;  re- 
member your  miserable  deficiency  in  this  enlightened  age. 
No  man  in  his  senses  would  condone  that;  put  such 
thoughts  resolutely  away,  and  think  only  of  your  work  in 
life.  Labor  are  est  orart."  . 


24  MERLE'S  CKUSADE. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE     NEW    NURSE. 

IN"  looking  back  on  those  days,  I  simply  wonder  at  mj 
own  audacity.  Am  I  really  and  truly  the  same  Merle  Fen* 
ton  who  rang  at  the  bell  at  Prince's  Gate,  and  informed 
tho  astonished  footman  that  I  was  the  person  applying  for 
the  nurse's  situation?  I  recall  that  scene  now  with  a 
laugh,  but  1  frankly  own  that  that  moment  was  not  the 
pleasantest  in  my  life.  True,  it  had  its  ludicrous  side; 
but  how  is  one  to  enjoy  the  humor  of  an  amusing  situation 
ak>ne?  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  six  feet  of  plush  and 
powder  before  me  was  somewhat  alarming  to  my  female 
timidity.  I  hear  now  the  man's  startled,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  ma'am." 

"  1  have  come  by  appointment,"  1  returned,  with  as 
much  dignity  as  I  could  summon  under  the  trying  circum- 
stances; "  will  you  inform  your  mistress,  Mrs.  Morton, 
that  I  have  come  about  the  nurse's  situation?" 

Of  course,  he  was  looking  at  me  from  head  to  foot.  In 
spite  of  the  disguising  plainness  of  my  dress,  1  suppose  the 
word  gentlewoman  was  clearly  stamped  upon  me.  Heaven 
forbid  that  under  any  circumstances  that  brand,  sole 
heritage  of  my  dead  parents,  should  ever  be  effaced! 
Then  he  opened  the  door  of  a  charming  little  waiting- 
room,  and  civilly  enough  bade  me  seat  myself,  and  for 
some  minutes  I  was  left  alone.  I  think  nearly  a  quarter 
oi'  an  hour  elapsed  before  he  reappeared  with  the  message 
that  his  mistress  was  now  disengaged  and  would  see  me. 
I  followed  the  man  as  closely  as  I  could  through  the  long 
hall  and  up  the  wide  staircase;  not  for  worlds  would  1 
have  owned  that  a  certain  shortness  of  breath,  unusual  in 
youth,  soemfd  to  impede  me.  At  the  top  I  found  myself 

•ing  with  two  drawing- 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  25 

rooms  of  noble  dimensions,  as  they  call  them  in  advertise- 
ments, and  certainly  it  was  a  princely  apartment  that  I 
entered.  A  lady  was  writing  busily  at  a  small  table  at  the 
further  end  of  the  room.  As  the  man  spoke  to  her  she  did 
not  at  once  raise  her  head  or  turn  round;  she  was  evident- 
ly finishing  a  note.  A  minute  later  she  laid  aside  her  pen 
and  came  toward  me. 

"  1  ani  sorry  that  I  could  not  attend  to  you  at  onoe,  and 
yet  you  were  very  punctual,"  she 'began,,  in  a  pleasant, 
well-modulated  voice,  and  then  she  stopped  and  regarded 
me  with  unfeigned  surprise. 

She  was  a  very  lovely  young  woman,  with  an  indescriba- 
ble matronly  air  about  her  that  spoke  of  the  mother.  She 
would  have  been  really  quite  beautiful,  but  for  a  certain 
worn  look,  often  seen  in  women  of  fashion;  arid  when  she 
spoke  there  was  a  sweetness  and  simplicity  of  manner  that 
was  most  winning. 

"  Pardon  me,"  with  a  shade  of  perplexity  in  her  eyes, 
"  but  I  suppose  my  servant  was  right  in  stating  that  you 
had  come  by  appointment  in  answer  to  my  advertise- 
ment?" 

i 'Yes,  madame,"  1  returned,  readily;  for  her  slight 
nervousness  put  me  at  my  ease.  "1  have  your  letter 
here." 

44  And  you  are  really  applying  for  the  nurse's  situation 
— the  upper  nurse,  I  mean;  for,  of  course,  there  is  an 
under  nurse  kept.  I  hope  "  (coloring  a  little)  "  that  you 
will  not  think  me  rude  if  I  say  that  I  was  not  prepared  for 
the  sort  of  person  I  was  to  see." 

I  could  have  groaned  as  I  thought  of  my  note.  Was  it 
possible  that  1  had  spelled  "  advertisement  "  wrongly?  and 
yet  I  had  the  paper  before  me;  my  hand  writing,  was  neat 
and  legible;  but  evidently  Mrs.  Morton  was  drawing  some 
comparison  between  my  letter  arid  appearance,  and  I  did 
.not  doubt  that  the  former  had  not  prepossessed  her  in  my 
iavor. 


26  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

1  became  confused  in  my  turn. 

'*  I  hope  to  prove  to  you,"  I  began,  in  a  rery  small 
voice,  "  that  1  am  a  fit  person  to  apply  for  your  situation. 
1  am  very  fond  of  children;  I  never  lose  my  patience  with 
them,  as  other  people  do,  or  think  anything  a  trouble;  1 
wish  to  take  up  this  work  from  love  as  well  as  necessity — I 
mean,"  correcting  myself,  for  she  looked  still  more  aston- 
ished, "  that  though  I  am  obliged  to  work  for  my  living,  1 
would  rather  be  a  nurse  than  anything  else." 

"  Will  you  answer  a  few  questions?"  and,  as  though  by 

after- thought,  "will  you  sit  down?"  for  she  had  been 
standing  to  keep  me  company,  out  of  deference  to  my 
superior  appearance. 

44 1  will  answer  any  question  you  like  to  put  to  me,  ma- 
dame." 

"  You  have  never  been  in  service,  you  tell  me  in  your 
letter.  Have  you  ever  filled  any  kind  of  situation?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

'  You  are  quite  young,  I  should  say?" 
'  Two-and-twenty  last  Christmas," 

"  I  should  hardly  have  thought  you  so  old.  Will  you 
oblige  me  with  your  name?" 

"MerleFenton." 

A  half  smile  crossed  her  beautiful  mouth.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  she  found  the  name  somewhat  incongruous,  and 
then  she  continued  a  little  hastily,  ' e  If  you  have  never 
filled  any  sort  of  situation,  it  will  be  somewhat  difficult  to 
judge  of  your  capacity.  Of  course  you  have  good  refer- 
ences; can  you  tell  me  a  little  about  yourself  and  your  cir- 
cumstances?" 

I  was  fast  losing  my  nervousness  by  this  time.  In  a 
few  minutes  I  had  given  her  a  concise  account  of  myself 
and  my  belongings.  Once  or  twice  she  interrupted  me  by 
a  question,  such  as,  for  example,  when  1  spoke  of  Aunt 
Agatha,  she  asked  the  names  of  the  families  where  she  had 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  27 

lived  as  a  governess;  and  once  she  looked  a  little  surprised 
at  my  answer. 

"  I  knew  the  Gurzons  before  I  was  married,"  she  ob- 
served, quietly;  "  they  have  often  talked  to  me  of.  their 
old  governess,  Miss  Fenton;  her  name  is  Keith  now,  you 
say;  she  was  a  great  favorite  with  her  pupils.  "Well,  is  it 
not  a  pity  that  you  should  not  follow  your  aunt's  example? 
If  you  are  not  clever,  would  not  the  situation  of  a  nursery 
governess  be  more  fitting  for  you?  Forgive  me;  1  am  only 
speaking  for  your  good;  one  feels  a  little  uncomfortable  at 
seeing  a  gentlewoman  desert  the  ranks  to  which  she  be- 
longs." 

My  face  was  burning  by  this  time;  of  course  it  must  all 
come  out — that  miserable  defect  of  mine,  and  everything 
else;  but  raising  my  eyes  at  that  moment  1  saw  such  a 
kind  look  on  Mrs.  Morton's  face,  such  quietly  expressed 
sympathy  for  my  very' evident  confusion,  that  in  a  moment 
my  reserve  broke  down.  I  do  not  know  what  I  said,  but 
I  believe  I  must  have  been  very  eloquent.  I  could  hear 
her  say  to  herself,  "  How  very  strange — what  a  misfort- 
une "  when  1  frankly  mentioned  my  inability  to  spell;  but 
1  did  not  linger  long  on  this  point. 

Warmed  by  her  strong  interest,  I  detailed  boldly  what  I 
called  my  theory.  1  told  her  of  my  love  for  little  chil- 
dren, my  longing  to  work  among  them,  how  deeply  I  felt 
that  this  would  indeed  be  a  gentlewoman's  work,  that  I 
did  not  fear  my  want  of  experience.  I  told  her  that  once 
I  had  stayed  for  some  weeks  at  the  house  of  one  of  my 
school-fellows,  and  that  every  night  and  morning  I  had 
gone  up  to  the  nursery  to  help  the  nurse  wash  and  dress 
the  babies,  and  that  at  the  end  of  a  week  I  had  learned  to 
do  it  as  well  as  the  woman  herself,  and  that  she  had  told 
my  school-fellow  that  she  had  never  seen  any  young  lady 
so  handy  and  patient  with  children,  and  that  they  were 
happier  with  me  than  with  their  own  sister. 

;*  The  second  child^had  the  auoup  one  night,"  I  con* 


2&  MEKLF/S    CRUSADE. 

tinued,  "the  mother  was  away,  and  nurse  was  too  fright- 
ened to  be  of  any  use.  When  the  doctor  came  he  praised 
her  very  much  for  her  prompt  remedies;  he  said  they  had 
probably  saved  the  boy's  life,  as  the  attack  was  a  severe 
one.  Nurse  cried  when  he  said  that,  and  owned  it  was 
not  she  who  had  thought  of  everthing,  but  Miss  Fenton.  I 
tell  you  this,"  I  continued,  "  that  you  may  understand 
that  I  am  reliable.  1  was  only  nineteen  then,  and  now  I 
am  two-and- twenty. " 

She  looked  at  me  again  in  a  gentle,  scrutinizing  way;  I 
could  feel  that  1  was  making  way  in  her  good  opinion. 
Her  curiosity  was  piqued;  her  interest  strongly  excited. 
She  made  no  attempt  to  check  me  as  I  launched  out  into 
further  defense  of  my  theory;  but  she  only  smiled,  and 
said,  "  Very  true,  I  agree  with  you  there/'  as  I  spoke  of 
the  advantage  of  having  an  educated  person  to  superintend 
the  nursery.  Indeed,  I  found  myself  retailing  all  my  pet 
arguments  in  a  perfectly  fearless  way,  until  I  looked  up 
and  saw  there  were  tears  in  her  beautiful  brown  eyes. 

"  How  well  you  talk!"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  sigh. 
"  You  have  thought  it  all  out,  I  can  see.  I  wonder  what 
my  husband  would  say.  He  is  a  member  of  Parliament, 
you  know,  and  we  are  very  busy  people,  and  society  has 
such  claims  on  us  that  I  can  not  be  much  with  my  chil- 
dren. I  have  only  two:  Joyce  is  three  years  old,  and  my 
boy  is  nearly  eighteen  months.  Oh,  he  is  so  lovely!  and 
to  think  I  can  only  see  him  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time, 
that  I  lose  all  his  pretty  ways;  it  is  such  a  trouble  to  me. 
His  nurse  is  leaving  to  be  married,  and  I  am  so  anxious 
to  find  some  one  who  will  watch  over  my  darlings  and 
make  them  happy." 

She  paused,  as  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  was 
audible  in  the  corridor,  and  rose  hastily  as  an  impatient 
'  Violet,  where  are  you,  my  clear'"1  was  distinctly  hear.!. 
'That  is  M*\  Morton;  will  use  mo  a  moment?" 


MERLE  vf)E.  9 

blue  drawing-room,,  Alick.  I  have  sent  off  the  letters, 
and  now  I  want  to  speak  to  you  a  moment;"  and  her  voice 
died  away  as  they  moved  further  down  the  corridor. 

I  felt  a  keen  anxiety  as  to  the  result  of  that  conversation. 
I  was  very  impulsive  by  nature,  and  1  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Mrs.  Morton.  The  worn  look  on  the  beautiful  young 
face  had  touched  me  somehow.  One  of  my  queer  visionary 
ideas  came  over  me  as  1  recalled  her  expression.  1  thought 
that  if  I  were  an  artist,  and  that  my  subject  was  the 
4 'Massacre  of  the  Innocents,"  that,  the  mother's  face  in 
the  foreground  should  be  Mrs.  Morton's.  "  Rachel  Weep- 
ing for  her  Children;"  something  of  the  pathetic  maternal 
agony,  as  for  a  lost  babe,  had  seemed  to  cross  her  face  as 
she  spoke  of  her  little  ones.  I  found  out  afterward  that, 
though  she  wore  no  mourning,  Mrs.  Morton  had  lost  a 
beautiful  infant  about  four  months  ago.  It  had  not  been 
more  than  six  weeks  old,  but  the  mother's  heart  was  still 
bleeding.  Many  months  afterward  she  told  me  that  she 
often  dreamed  of  her  little  Muriel  and  woke  trying  to  stifle 
her  sobs,  that  she  might  not  disturb  her  husband.  I  sat 
cogitating  this  imaginary  picture  of  mine,  and  shudder- 
ing over  the  sanguinary  details,  until  Mrs.  Morton  re- 
turned, and,  to  my  embarrassment,  her  husband  was  with 
her. 

1  gave  him  a  frightened  glance  as  he  crossed  the  room 
with  rapid  footsteps.  He  was  a  quiet-looking  man,  with  a 
dark  mustache,  some  years  older  than  his  wife.  His  being 
slightly  bald  added  somewhat  to  his  appearance  of  age. 
In  reality  he  was  not  more  than  five-and-thirty.  I  thought 
him  a  little  cool  and  critical  in  manner,  but  his  voice  was 
pleasant.  He  looked  at  me  keenly  as  he  spoke;  it  was  my 
opinion  at  that  moment  that  not  an  article  of  my  dress 
escaped  his  observation.  I  had  selected  purposely  a  pair 
of  mended  gloves,  and  I  am  convinced  the  finger-ends  were 
at  once  under  his  inspection.  He  was  a  man  who  thought 
no  details  beneath  him,  but  would  bring  his  masculine  in- 


30  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

tellect  even  to  the  point  of  discovering  the  fitness  of  hi* 
children's  nurse. 

4 '  Mrs.  Morton  tells  me  that  you  have  applied  for  the 
situation  of  upper  nurse/'  he  began,  not  abruptly,  but  in 
the  quick  tones  of  a  busy  man  who  has  scant  leisure.  "  I 
have  heard  all  you  have  told  her;  she  seems  desirous  of 
testing  your  abilities,  but  I  must  warn  you  that  I  distrust 
theories  myself.  My  dear,'*  turning  to  his  wife,  "  I  must 
say  that  this  young  person  looks  hardly  old  enough  for  the 
position,  and  you  own  she  has  no  real  experience.  Would 
not  a  more  elderly  person  be  more  suitable,  considering 
that  you  are  so  seldom  in  your  nursery?  Of  course,  this 
is  your  department,  but  since  you  ask  my  advice — "  with 
a  little  •shrug  that  seemed  to  dismiss  me  and  the  whole 
subject. 

A  wistful,  disappointed  look  came  over  his  wife's 
face. 

I  was  £00  great  a  stranger  to  understand  the  real  position 
of  affairs,  only  my  intuition  guided  me  at  that  moment. 
It  was  not  until  much  later  that  I  found  out  that  Mrs. 
Morton  never  disputed  her  husband's  will,  even  in  trifles; 
that  he  ordered  the  plan  of  her  life  as  well  as  his  own;  that 
her  passionate  love  for  her  children  was  restrained  in  order 
that  her  wifely  and  social  duties  should  be  carried  out; 
that  she  was  so  perfectly  obedient  to  him,  not  from  fear, 
but  from  an  excess  of  womanly  devotion,  that  she  seldom 
even  contested  an  opinion.  My  fate  was  very  nearly- 
sealed  at  that  moment,  but  a  hasty  impulse  prompted  me 
to  speak.  Looking  Mr.  Morton  full  in  the  face,  I  said,  a 
little  piteously,  "  Do  not  dismiss  me  because  of  my  youth, 
for  that  is  a  fault  that  time  will  mend.  Want  of  experi- 
ence is  a  greater  obstacle,  but  it  will  only  make  me  more 
careful  to  observe  every  direction  and  carry  out  every  wish. 
If  you  consent  to  try  me,  I  am  sure  neither  you  nor  Mrs. 
Morton  will  repent  it." 

He  looked  at  me  verj  keenly  again  a?  I  spoke;  indeed, 


MEKLE:;8    CRUSADE.  31 

^re  seemed  to  search  me  through  and  through,  and 
then  his  whole  manner  changed. 

I  have  been  told  that  Nature  had  been  kind  to  me  in 
one  respect  by  endowing  me  with  a  pleasant  voice.  I  be- 
lieve that  I  was  freer  from  vanity  than  most  girls  of  my 
age,  but  I  was  glad  in  my  inmost  heart  to  know  that  no 
tone  of  mine  would  ever  jar  upon  a  human  ear,  but  I  was 
more  than  glad  now  when  I  saw  Mr.  Morton's  grave  face 
relax. 

"  You  speak  confidently,"  he  returned.  ''  You  seem  to 
have  a  strange  faith  in  your  own  theory,  and  plenty  of 
self-reliance,  but  I  am  afraid  that,  like  most  young  people, 
you  have  only  regarded  it  from  one  point  of  view.  Are 
you  aware  of  the  unpleasantness  of  such  a  situation?  If 
you  came  to  us  you  might  have  nothing  of  which  to  com- 
plain from  Mrs.  Morton  or  myself,  but  we  could  not  an- 
swer for  the  rest  of  my  household;  the  servants  would  re- 
gard you  as  a  sort  of  hybrid,  belonging  to  no  special 
sphere;  they  might  show  you  scant  respect,  and  manifest  a 
great  deal  of  jealousy. 

"  1  have  faced  all  that,"  I  returned,  with  a  smile,  "  but 
I  think  the  difficulties  would  be  like  Bunyan's  lions — they 
were  chained,  you  know.  1  do  not  believe  these  things 
will  hurt  me.  I  should  never  be  away  from  the  children 
in  the  nursery;  I  should  be  unmolested  and  at  home/' 

"  Alick!"  I  could  hear  a  whole  petition  breathed  into 
that  softly  uttered  word.  Mr.  Morton  heard  it  too,  for  he 
turned  at  once,  and  then  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  Do  you  really  wish  to  try  this  young  person,  Violet, 
my  dear?  It  is  for  you  to  decide;  this  is  your  province,  as 
I  said  before." 

"  If  she  will  love  our  children  and  watch  over  them  in 
our  absence/'  she  whispered;  but  I  caught  the  words. 
Then  aloud,  "  Yes,  thank  you,  Alick,  I  should  like  to  try 
her.  1  think  she  would  make  Jovce  happy.  I  can  go  and 


32  MERLE'S  CRUSADE, 

see  Mis.  Keith  this  afternoon  when  1  am  out  driving,  and 
perhaps  *  could  arrange  for  her  to  come  soon." 

"  Very  well,"  he  renamed,  briefly;  but  he  spoke  in  the 
old  dry  manner,  as  though  he  were  not  quite  pleased. 
"  When  you  are  disengaged  will  you  join  me  in  the 
library?  I  have  some  more  letters  1  want  copied." 

"  I  will  be  ready  soon,"  she  said,  with  a  sweet,  grateful 
glance  at  him,  as  though  she  had  received  some  unexpected 
bounty  at  his  hands;  and  as  he  wished  me  good-morning, 
and  left  the  room,  she  continued,  eagerly,  "'Will  you  come 
with  me  now  and  make  acquaintance  with  the  children? 
I  have  seen  them  already  this  morning,  so  they  will  not 
expect  me,  and  it  will  be  such  a  surprise.  My  little  girl 
is  always  with  me  while  I  dress.  I  have  so  little  time  to 
devote  to  them;  but  1  snatch  every  moment." 

She  sighed  as  she  spoke,  and  I  began  to  understand,  in 
a  dim,  groping  sort  of  way,  that  Fate  is  not  so  unequal 
after  all,  that  even  this  beautiful  creature  had  unsatisfied 
wants  in  her  life,  that  it  was  possible  that  wealth  and  posi- 
tion were  to  her  only  tiresome  barriers  dividing  her  from 
her  little  ones.  Her  sweetest  pleasures  only  came  to  her 
by  snatches.  Most  likely  she  envied  humble  mothers,  and 
did  not  pity  them  because  their  arms  ached  with  carrying 
a  heavy  infant,  aching  limbs  being  more  bearable  than  an 
aching  heart. 

A  flight  of  broad,  handsomely  carpeted  stairs  brought  us 
to  a  long  shut-in  corridor,  fitted  up  prettily  with  plants 
and  statuettes.  A  rocking-horse  stood  in  one  corner;  the 
nursery  door  was  open.  It  was  a  long,  cheerful  room, 
with  raree  windows,  looking  over  the  public  garden,  and 
fitted  up  with  a  degree  of  comfort  that  bordered  on  luxury. 
Some  canaries  were  singing  in  a  green  cage,  a  gray  Persian 
kitten  was  curled  up  in  the  doll's  bassinet,  a  little  girl 
was  kneeling  on  the  cushioned  window-seat,  peeping  be- 
tween the  bars  at  some  children  who  were  playing  below. 
As  Mrs.  Morton  s*ad,  softly,  "  Joyce,  darling,"  she  turned 


.MERLE'S     CRUSADE.  S3 

round  with  quite  a  startled  air,  and  then  clambered  dcwn 
hastily  and  ran  to  her  mother. 

"  Why,  it  is  my  mother/'  in  quite  an  incredulous  voice,, 
and  then  she  caught  hold  of  her  mother's  gown,  and  peeked 
at  me  from  between  the  folds. 

She  was  a  pretty,  demure -looking  child,  only  somewhat 
thin  and  fragile  in  appearance,  not  in  the  least  like  lier 
mother,  but  I  could  trace  instantly  the  strongest  resem- 
blance to  her  father.  She  had  the  straight,  uncurling  h;iir 
like  his,  and  her  dark  eyes  were  a  little  sunken  under  the 
finely  arched  brows.  It  was  rather  a  bewitching  little 
face,  only  too  thin  and  sallow  for  health,  and  with  an  in- 
telligent expression,  almost  amounting  to  precocity. 

"  And  where  is  your  brother,  my  darling?"  asked  )>er 
mother,  stooping  to  kiss  her;  and  at  this  moment  a  pleus- 
ant-looking  young  woman  came  from  the  inner  room  wjth 
a  small  curly-haired  boy  in  her  arms. 

As  she  set  him  down  on  the  floor,  and  he  came  toddling 
over  the  carpet,  I  forgot  Mrs.  Morton's  presence,  and 
knelt  down  and  held  out  my  arms  to  him.  "  Oh,  you 
beauty!"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  coaxing  voice,  "  will  you  -come 
to  me?"  for  I  quite  forgot  myself  at  the  sight  of  the  per- 
fect baby  features. 

Baby  pointed  a  small  finger  at  me,  "  0%  /ook,  gurgle- 
da,"  he  said,  in  the  friendliest  way;  and  I  sealed  our  com- 
pact with  many  kisses. 

"Dear  me,  ma'am,"  observed  nurse,  eying  me  in<  a 
dubious  manner,  for  probably  the  news  of  my  advent  had 
preceded  me  to  the  upper  regions,  "  this  is  very  singular; 
I  never  saw  Master  Baby  take  such  a  fancy  to  any  one  be- 
fore; he  always  beats  them  off  with  his  dear  little  hand." 

"Gurgle-da, 'ook,  *ook,"  was  baby's  unexpected  re- 
sponse to  this,  as  he  burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter,  and  he 
made  signs  for  me  to  carry  him  to  the  canaries. 

1  do  not  know  what  Mrs.  Morton  said  to  nurse,  but  she 
up  after  a  minati  ^uJ  w;u  mg. 


34  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

;<  He  does  seem  very  friendly;  more  so  than  my  shy  pet 
iere,"  for  Joyce  was  still  holding  her  mother's  gown. 

"  She  will  be  friends  with  me  too/'  I  returned,  confi- 
dently; "  children  are  so  easily  won."  And  then,  as  Mrs. 
Morton  held  out  her  arms  for  her  boy,  I  parted  with  him 
reluctantly. 

There  was  no  need  for  me  to  stay  any  longer  then.  Mrs. 
Morton  reiterated  her  intention  of  calling  on  Aunt  Agatha 
that  afternoon,  after  which  she  promised  to  speak  to. me 
again;  and  feeling  that  things  were  in  a  fair  way  of  being 
settled  according  to  my  wishes^  I  left  the  house  with  a 
lighter  heart  than  1  had  entered  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MERLE'S  LAST  EVENING  AT  HOME. 

<c  So  it  is  all  settled,  Merle." 

*  Yes,  Aunt  Agatha/'  I  returned,  briskly,  for  she 
spoke  in  a  lugubrious  voice;  and  as  one  sad  face  was 
enough  beside  the  family  hearth,  I  assumed  a  tolerably 
cheerful  aspect.  If  only  Aunt  Agatha's  eyes  would  not 
look  at  me  so  tenderly! 

"  Poor  child!"  she  sighed;  and  then,  as  I  remained 
silent,  she  continued,  in  a  few  minutes,  "  1  wish  I  could 
reconcile  myself  more  to  the  idea,  but  1  can  not  help  feel- 
ing a  presentiment  that  you  will  live  to  repent  this  strange 
step  you  are  taking." 

1  found  this  speech  a  little  damping,  but  I  bore  it  with- 
out flinching.  One  can  never  set  out  down  some  new  road 
without  a  few  friendly  missiles  flying  about  one's  ears. 
"  Remember,  I  told  you  such  and  such  a  thing  would  hap- 
pen if  you  did  not  take  my  advice.  I  am  only  warning 
you  for  your  good."  Alas!  that  one's  dearest  friend 
should  be  transformed  into  a  teasing  gadfly!  What  can 
one  do  but  go  straight  across  the  enemy's  country,  when 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  38 

the  boats  are  destroyed  behind  one?  I  always  did  think 
that  a  grand  action  on  Xen option's  part. 

"  You  have  not  given  me  your  opinion  of  my  new  mis- 
tress/' was  my  wicked  rejoinder. 

Aunt  Agatha  drew  herself  up  at  this  and  put  on  her 
grandest  manner.  "  You  need  not  go  out  of  your  way  to 
vex  me,  Merle.  I  am  sufficiently  humiliated  without 
that." 

"Aunt  Agatha/'  I  remonstrated;  for  this  was  too 
much  for  my  forbearance,  "  do  you  think  I  would  do  any- 
thing to  vex  you  when  we  are  to  part  in  a  few  days?  Oh, 
you  dear,  silly  woman!"  for  she  was  actually  crying,  "  I 
am  only  longing  to  know  what  you  think  of  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton." 

**  She  is  perfectly  lovely,  Merle,"  she  returned,  drying 
her  eyes,  as  I  kissed  and  coaxed  her.  "  I  very  nearly  fell 
in  love  with  her  myself.  I  liked  the  simple  way  in  which 
she  sat  down  and  talked  to  me  about  my  old  pupils,  mak- 
ing herself  quite  at  home  in  our  little  drawing-room,  and  I 
'  was  much  pleased  with  her  manner  when  she  spoke  about 
you;  it  was  almost  a  pity  you  came  into  the  room  just 
then." 

"  I  left  you  alone  for  nearly  half  an  hour;  please  to  re- 
member that." 

"Indeed!  it  did  not  seem  nearly  so  long.  Half  an 
hour!  And  it  passed  so  quickly,  too.  Well,  I  must  say 
Mrs.  Morton  is  a  most  inteiesting  woman;  she  is  full  of 
intelligence,  and  yet  so  gentle.  She  has  lost  her  baby — 
did  she  tell  you  that? — only  four  months  ago,  and  her  hus- 
band does  not  like  her  to  wear  mourning.  She  is  a  de- 
voted wife,  I  can  see  that;  but  I  have  a  notion  that  you 
I  will  have  some  difficulty  in  satisfying  Mr.  Morton;  he  is 
very  particular,  and  hard  to  please. " 

"  I  have  found  out  that  for  myself;  he  is  a  man  of 
strong  prejudices." 

'(  Well,  you  must  do  your  best  to  conciliate  him;  tact 


3€  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

goes  a  long  way  in  these  cases.  Mrs.  Morton  has  evidently 
taken  a  fancy  to  you,  Merle.  She  told  me  over  again  how 
her  baby  boy  had  made  friends  with  you  at  once;  she  said 
your  manner  was  very  frank  and  winning,  and  though  you 
looked  young,  you  seemed  very  staid  and  self-reliant/' 

"  I  wish  Uncle  Keith  had  heard  that.  Did  she  say  any 
more  about  me,  Aunt  Agatha?" 

"  No,  you  interrupted  us  at  that  point,  and  the  conver- 
sation became  more  general ;  but,  my  dear,  I  must  scold 
you  about  one  thing:  how  absurd  you  were  to  insist  on 
wearing  caps!  Mrs.  Morton  was  quite  embarrassed;  she 
said  she  would  never  have  mentioned  such  a  thing." 

u  But  I  have  set  my  heart  on  wearing  them,  Aunt 
Agatha,"  I  returned,  very  quickly;  "  you  have  no  idea 
how  nice  I  shall  look  in  a  neat  bib  apron  over  my  dark 
print  gown,  and  a  regular  cap,  such  as  hospital  nurses 
wear,  I  should  be  quite  disappointed  if  I  did  not  carry 
out  that  part  of  my  programme;  the  only  thing  that 
troubles  me  is  the  smallness  of  my  salary — I  mean  wages. 
Thirty  pounds  a  year  will  never  make  my  fortune." 

*'  You  can  not  ask  more  with  a  good  conscience,  Merle; 
you  have  never  been  out  before,  and  have  no  experience. 
Mrs.  Morton  said  herself  that  her  husband  had  promised 
to  raise  it  at  the  end  of  six  months  if  you  proved  yourself 
competent;  it  is  quite  as  much  as  a  nursery  governess's 
salary. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  mercenary,"  I  replied,  hastily,  "  and  I 
sha.ll  save  out  of  thirty  pounds  a  year.  I  must  keep  a  nice 
dress  for  my  home  visits  and  for  Sundays,  though  it  is 
dreadful  to  think  that  I  shall  not  always  go  to  church  every 
Sunday  until  little  Joyce  is  older;  that  will  be  a  sad  depri- 
vation." 

'  Yes,  my  poor  child,  but  you  must  not  speak  as  though 
thii  were  the  only  serious  drawback;  you  will  find  plenty 
of  difficulties  in  your  position;  even  Mrs.  Morton  confessed 
thai." 


MERLE'S   CRUSADE,  3? 

"  Th«  world  is  full  of  difficulties,"  1  returned,  loftily; 
**  there  have  been  thorns  and  briers  ever  since  Adam's 
time.  Do  you  remember  your  l*ivorite  fable  of  the  old 
man  and  the  bundle  of  sticks,  Aunt  Agatha?  I  mean  to 
treat  my  difficulties  in  the  same  way  he  managed  his.  I 
shall  break  each  stick  singly." 

She  smiled  approvingly  at  this,  and  then,  as  Uncle 
Keith's  knock  reached  her  ear,  she  rose  quickly  and  went 
out  of  the  room. 

The  moment  I  was  left  alone  my  assumed  briskness  of 
manner  dropped  into  the  mental  deshabille  that  we  wear 
for  our  own  private  use  and  comfort.  Those  two  had 
always  so  much  to  say  to  each  other  that  I  was  sure  of  at 
least  half  an  hour's  solitude,  and  in  some  moods  self  is  the 
finest  company.  Yes,  I  had  destroyed  my  boats,  and  now 
my  motto  must  be  "  Forward!"  This  afternoon  I  had 
pledged  myself  to  a  new  service — a  service  of  self-renuncia- 
tion and  patient  labor,  undertaken  under  the  influence  of 
love  to  our  Great  Master  and  in  the  effort  to  follow  His  ex- 
ample— yes,  I  dare  to  say  it — with  the  double  desire,  viz. , 
of  doing  as  much  good  as  lay  in  my  power,  and  also  for 
the  welfare  of  the  large  sisterhood  of  waiting  and  working 
women.  A  servant?  No,  a  soldier;  for  I  should  be  one 
among  the  vanguard,  who  strive  to  make  a  breach  in  the 
great  fortress  of  conventionality.  Not  that  I  feared,  the 
word  service,  considering  what  Divine  lips  had  said  on  that 
subject — "  I  am  among  you  as  one  who  serveth  " — but  I 
knew  how  the  world  shrunk  from  such  terms. 

I  have  always  maintained  that  half  the  so-called  difficul- 
ties of  life  consist  mainly  in  our  dread  of  other  people's 
opinions;  women  are  especially  trammeled  by  this  bond- 
age. They  breathe  the  atmosphere  of  their  own  special 
world,  and  the  chill  wind  of  popular  opinion  blows  coldly 
over  them;  like  the  sensitive  plant,  they  shiver  arid  wither 
up  at  a  touch.  1  believe  the  master  minds  that  achieve 
great  things  have  created  their  own  atmosphere,  else  how 


3%  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

can  they  appear  so  impervious;  to  criticism?  How  can 
carry  themselves  so  calmly,  when  their  contemporaries  are 
sneering  round  them?  We  must  live  above  ourselves  and 
each  other;  there  is  no  other  way  of  getting  rid  of  the 
shams  and  disguises  of  life;  and  yet  how  is  one  who  has 
been  born  in  slavery  to  be  absolutely  true?  How  is  an 
English  gentlewoman  to  shake  off  the  prejudices  of  caste 
and  declare  herself  free? 

Ah,  well!  this  was  the  enigma  I  had  set  myself  to  solve. 
And  now  the  old  life — the  protected  girl's  life — was  reced- 
ing from  me;  the  old  guards,  the  old  landmarks  were  to 
be  removed  by  my  own  hands.  Should  I  live  to  repent 
my  rash  act,  as  Aunt  Agatha  predicted,  or  should  I  at 
some  future  time,  when  I  looked  back  upon  this  wintery 
day,  thank  God,  humbly  and  with  tears  of  gratitude,  that 
in  humble  trust  and  in  dependence  upon  His  spirit  for 
guidance  I  had  courage  given  me  to  see  the  right  and  do 

it,  adfinemfidelis,  faithful  to  the  last?. 

******* 

1  found  those  last  few  days  of  home  life  singularly  toy- 
ing. Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  was  not  distinctly 
grateful  when  the  final  evening  arrived.  When  one  has  to 
perform  a  painful  duty  there  is  no  use  in  lingering  over  it; 
and  when  one  is  secretly  troubled,  a  spoken  and  too  dis- 
cursive sympathy  only  irritates  our  mental  membrane. 
How  could  Job,  for  example,  tolerate  the  sackcloth  and 
ashes,  and,  worse  still,  the  combative  eloquence  of  his 
friends? 

Aunt  Agatha's  pathetic  looks  and  pitying  words  fretted 
me  to  the  verge  of  endurance.  1  wished  she  would  have 
been  less  mindful  of  my  comforts,  that  she  would  not  have 
insisted  on  helping  me  with  my  sewing,  and  loading  me 
with  little  surprises  in  the  shape  of  gifts.  But  for  the  bit- 
ter cold  that  kept  me  an  unwilling  prisoner  by  the  fires>>de, 
I  would  have  escaped  into  my  own  room,  to  avoid  the 
looks  that  seemed  to  follow  me  everywhere. 


39 

But  I  would  not  yield  to  my  inward  irritability;  1 
hummed  a  tune;  I  even  sung  to  myself,  as  I  hemmed  my 
new  bib  aprons,  or  quilled  the  neat  border  for  my  cap. 
Nay,  I  became  recklessly  gay  the  last  night,  and  dressed 
myself  in  what  I  termed  my  nurse's  uniform,  a  dark  navy- 
blue  cambric,  #nd  then  went  down  to  show  myself  to 
Uncle  Keith,  who  was  reading  aloud  the  paper  to  Aunt 
Agatha.  1  could  see  him  start  as  I  entered;  but  Aunt 
Agatha's  first  words  made  me  blush,  and  in  a  moment  1 
repented  my  misplaced  spirit  of  fun. 

"  Why,  Merle,  how  pretty  you  look!  Does  not  the  child 
look  almost  pretty,  Ezra,  though  that  cap  does  hide  her 
nice  smooth  hair?  I  had  no  idea  that  dress  would  be  so 
becoming/'  But  the  rest  of  Aunt  Agatha's  speech  was 
lost  upon  me,  for  I  ran  out  of  the  room.  Why,  they 
seemed  actually  to  believe  that  I  was  play-acting,  that  my 
part  was  a  becoming  one!  Pretty,  indeed!  And  here 
such  a  strange  revulsion  of  feeling  took  possession  of  me 
that  I  absolutely  shed  a  few  tears,  though  none  but  myself 
was  witness  to  this  humiliating  fact. 

I  did  not  go  down-stairs  for  a  long  time  after  that,  and 
then,  to  my  relief,  I  found  Uncle  Keith  alone;  for  men 
are  less  sharp  in  some  matters  than  women,  and  he  would 
never  find  out  that  I  had  been  crying,  as  Aunt  Agatha 
would;  but  I  was  a  little  taken  aback  when  he  put  down 
his  paper,  and  asked,  in  a  kind  voice,  why  £  had  stayed  so 
long  in  the  cold,  and  if  I  had  not  finished  my  packing. 

4 'Oh,  yes/'  I  returned,  promptly,  "everything  was 
done,  and  my  trunk  was  only  waiting  to  be  strapped 
down. " 

"That  is  right,"  he  said,  quite  heartily;  "always  be 
beforehand  with  your  duties,  Merle;  your  aunt  tells  me 
you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  leave  us  in  the  morning. 
I  should  have  thought  the  afternoon  or  early  evening 
would  have  been  better. " 

il  Oh,  no,  Uncle  Keith,"  I  exclaimed;  and  then,  oddly 


40  JfIKfcE'8 

enough,  I  began  to  laugh,  and  yet  the  provoking  tew* 
would  come  to  my  eyes,  for  a  vision  of  sundry  school 
domestics  arriving  toward  night  with  their  goods  and  chat- 
tels, and  the  remembrance  of  their  shy  faces  in  the  morn- 
ing light  seemed  to  evoke  a  sort  of  dreary  mirth;  but,  to 
my  infinite  surprise  and  embarrassment,  Uncle  Keith 
patted  me  on  the  shoulder  as  though  I  were  a  child. 

"  There,  there;  never  mind  showing  a  bit  of  natural 
feeling  that  does  you  credit;  your  aunt  is  fretting  herself 
to  death  over  losing  you — hir-rumph;  and  I  do  not  mind 
owning  that  the  house  will  be  a  trifle  dull  without  you; 
and,  of  course,  a  young  creature  like  you  must  feel  it  too/' 
And  with  that  he  took  my  hands,  awkwardly  enough,  and 
began  warming  them  in  his  own,  for  they  were  blue  with 
cold.  If  Aunt  Agatha  had  only  seen  him  doing  it,  and 
me,  and  with  the  babyish  tears  running  down  my  face! 

"  "Why,  look  here,"  continued  Uncle  Keith,  cheerily, 
with  a  sort  of  cricket-like  chirp,  <fc  we  are  all  as  down  as 
possible,  just  because  you  are  leaving  us,  and  yet  you  v/ill 
only  be  two  or  three  miles  away,  and  any  day  if  you  want 
us  we  can  be  with  you.  Why,  there  is  no  difficulty,  really; 
you  are  trying  your  little  experiment,  and  I  will  say  you 
are  a  brave  girl  for  venturing  on  such  a  brave  scheme. 
Well,  if  it  does  not  answer,  here  is  your  home,  and  your 
own  corner  by  the  fireside,  and  an  old  uncle  ready  to  work 
for  you.  1  can't  say  more  than  that,  Merle. " 

"Oh,  Uncle  Keith,"  1  returned,  sobbing  remorsefully, 
"  why  are  you  so  good  to  me,  when  I  have  always  been  BO 
ungrateful  for  your  kindness?" 

"  Nay,  nay,  we  will  leave  by-gones  alone/  he  answered, 
a  little  huskily.  "  I  never  minded  your  tantrums,  know- 
ing there  was  a  good  heart  at  the  bottom.  I  only  wished  I 
was  not  such  a  dry  old  fellow,  and  that  you  could  have 
been  fonder  of  me.  Perhaps  you  will  understand  me  bet- 
ter some  day,  and—  Here  he  stopped  and  cleared  his 


ORUSADB.  4-1 

throat,  and  said  "  hir-rumph  "  once  or  twice,  and  then  1 
felt  a  thin  crackling  bit  of  paper  underneath  my  palm. 
"  It  will  buy  you  something  useful,  my  dear,"  he  finished, 
getting  up  in.  a  hurry.  A  five-pound  note,  and  he  had  lost 
so  much  money  and  had  to  do  without  so  many  comforts! 
Who  can  wonder  that  I  jumped  up  and  gave  him  a  peni- 
tent hug? 

It  was  long  before  I  slept  that  night,  and  my  first  wak- 
ing thoughts  the  next  morning  were  hardly  as  pleasant  as 
usual.  A  premonitory  symptom  of  homesickness  seized 
mo  as  I  glanced  round  iny  little  room  in  the  dim  winter 
light.  Aunt  Agatha  had  made  it  so  pretty;  but  here  a 
certain  suspicious  moisture  stole  under  my  eyelids,  and 
I  .jjave  myself  a  resolute  shake,  and  commenced  my  toilet 
in  a  business-like  way  that  chased  away  gloomy  thoughts. 

Never  had  the  little  dining-room  looked  more  inviting 
than  Trhen  1  entered  it  that  morning.  One  of  Uncle 
Keith's  carefully  hoarded  logs  blazed  and  crackled  in  the 
roomy  fire-place,  a  delicious  aroma  of  coffee  and  smoking 
ham  pervaded  the  room.  Aunt  Agatha,  in  her  pretty 
morning-cap,  was  placing  a  vase  of  hot-house  flowers  some 
oM  pupil  had  sent  her  in  the  center  of  the"  table,  and  the 
bullfinch  was  whistling  as  merrily  as  ever,  while  old  Tom 
watched  him,  sleepily,  from  the  rug.  I  was  rather  long 
warming  my  hands  and  stroking  his  sleek  fur,  for  some- 
how I  could  not  bring  myself  to  look  or  speak  in  quite  my 
ordinary  manner;  and  though  Uncle  Keith  did  his  best  to 
enliven  us  by  reading  out  scraps  from  his  newspaper,  I 
am  afraid  we  gave  him  only  a  partial  attention.  Wnen 
Uncle  Keith  had  bade  me  a  husky  good-bye,  and  had  gone 
to  his  oflice,  Aunt  Agatha  and  I  made  a  grand  feint  of 
being  busy.  There  was  very  little  to  do,  really,  but  1 
considered  it  incumbent  to  be  in  a  great  state  of  activity. 
I  am  afraid  to  say  how  many  times  I  ran  up  and  down- 
stairs for  articles  that  were  safely  deposited  at  the  bottom 
of  my  box.  Aunt  Agatha  put  a  stop  to  it  at  last  by  tak- 


43  MERLE'S  CKUSADB. 

ing  my  hand  and  putting  me  forcibly  in  Uncle  Keith's  big 
chair. 

"  Sit  there  and  keep  warm,  Merle;  the  cab  will  not  be 
here  for  another  half  hour;  what  is  the  use  of  our  pretend- 
ing that  we  are  not  exceedingly  unhappy?  My  dear,  you 
are  leaving  us  with  a  sore  heart,  I  can  see  that,  and  it  only 
makes  me  love  you  all  the  better.  Yes,  indeed,  Merle,'* 
for  I  was  clinging  to  her  now  and  sobbing  softly  under  my 
breath;  "  and  however  things  may  turn  out,  whether  this 
step  be  a  failure  or  not,  I  will  always  say  that  you  are  a 
brave  girl  who  tried  to  do  her  duty." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  think  that,  Aunt  Agatha?" 

Then  she  smiled  to  herself  a  little  sadly. 

"  You  remind  me  of  the  baby  Merle  who  was  so  anxious 
*o  help  every  one.  I  remember  you  such  a  little  creature, 
trying  to  lift  the  nursery  chair,  because  your  mother  was 
tired;  and  how  you  dragged  it  across  the  room  until  you 
were  red  in  the  face,  and  came  to  me  rubbing  your  little 
fab  hands,  and  looking  so  important.  '  The  chair  hurted 
baby  drefful,  but  it  might  hurted  poor  mammy  worser:' 
th*t  was  what  you  said.  I  think  you  would  still  hurt 
yourself  '  drefful 9  if  you  could  help  some  one  else. " 

It  was  nice  to  hear  this.  What  can  be  sweeter  or  less 
harmful  than  praise  from  one  we  love?  It  was  nice  to  sit 
there  with  Aunt  Agatha's  soft  hand  in  mine,  and  be  petted. 
It  would  be  long  before  I  should  have  a  cozy  time  with  her 
again.  It  put  fresh  heart  in  me  somehow;  like  Jonathan's 
taste  of  honey,  "  it  lightened  my  eyes,"  so  that  when  the 
final  good-bye  came,  I  could  smile  as  I  said  it,  and  carry 
away  an  impression  of/  Aunt  Agatha's  smile  too>  as  she 
.stood  on  the  steps,  with  Patience  behind  her,  watching 
until  I  was  out  of  sight.  1  am  afraid  I  am  different  to 
most  young  women  of  my  ago. — more  imaginative,  and  per- 
haps a  little  morbid.  M.-tny  filings  in  every-day  life  c;ima 
to  me  in  the  guiso  of  symbols  or  signs — a  good-bye,  for 
examplo  A:  nartms'&pAfeforju  ;me  always  appears 


MEi  DE,  43 

to  me  a  faint  ty]>e  of  that  last  solemn  parting  when  we  bid 
good-bye  to  temporal  things.  1  suppose  kind  eyes  will 
watch  us  then,  kind  hands  clasp  ours;  as  we  start  on  that 
long  journey  they  will  bid  God  help  us,  as  with  failing 
breath  and,  perhaps,  some  natural  longings  for  the  friends 
we  love,  we  go  out  into  the  great  unknown,  looking 
for  the  Divine  Guide  to  take  us  by  the  hand.  "  In  my 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions. "  He  who  gave  the 
promise  and  who  died  to  make  it  ours,  will  lead  us  to  those 
other  rooms,  where  the  human  drops  will  be  wiped  away, 
and  where  pain  and  trouble  are  unknown. 


CHAPTER   V. 

MRS.  GARNETT'S  ROCKERS. 

1  HAD  plenty  of  time  for  such  introspective  thoughts  ate 
chese  during  my  brief  railway  journe*y,  and  before  my  lug- 
gage and  1  were  safely  deposited  at  35  Prince's  Gate. 

Again  I  rang  the  bell,  and  again  the  footman  in  plush 
and  powder  answered  the  door,  but  this  time  there  was  no 
hesitation  in  his  manner. 

"  Miss  Fen  ton,  I  believe,"  he  said,  quite  civilly.     "  If 

I  you  step  into  the  waiting-room  a  moment  I  will  find  some 

one  to  ?how  you  the  way  to  the  nursery;"  and  in  two  or 

*  three  minutes  a  tall,  respectable  young  woman  came  to 
f:  me,  and  asked  me,  very  pleasantly,  to  follow  her  upstairs. 

On  the  way  she  mentioned  two  or  three  things;  her  mis- 
tress was  out  in  the  carriage,  and  Miss  Joyce  was  with  her. 

•  The  nurse  had  left  the  previous  night,  and  Master  Regi- 
|  nald  had  been  so  fretful  that  the  housekeeper  had  been 
I  obliged  to  sleep  with  him,  as  Hannah  had  been  no  manner 
|  of  use — "  girls  never  were,"  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  which 

showed  me  the  rosy-cheeked  Hannah  was  somewhat  in  dis- 
favor.    Mrs.  Garnett  was  with  him  now,  and  had  had  a 

j> , "  great  deal  of  trouble  in  lulling  him  on*   to  sleep,  tha 

'  Dretty  dear.'* 


44  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

We  had  reached  the  children's  corridor  by  tfris  time,  and 
1  heard  the  full,  cozy  tones  of  Mrs.  Garnett's  voice  in 
"  Hush  a  bye,  baby/'  and  the  sound  of  rockers  on  the 
floor.  The  sound  made  me  indignant  that  my  baby  should 
be  soothed  with  that  wooden  tapping.  No  wonder  so 
many  children  suffered  from  irritability  of  the  brain;  for  I 
was  as  full  of  theories  as  a  sucking  politician. 

"  Ook,  gurgle-da,"  exclaimed  baby,  and  pointed  -a  fat 
finger  at  me  over  Mrs.  Garnett's  shoulder.  Of  course  he 
was  not  sleep;  it  would  have  been  an  insult  to  his  infantine 
wisdom  to  suppose  it. 

"  Oh,  Master  Baby,"  exclaimed  Hannah,  reproachfully. 
"  I  did  think  he  had  gone  off  then,  Mrs.  Garnett;  and  you 
have  been  rocking  him  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour." 

"  Ah,  he  misses  his  old  nurse,"  returned  Mrs.  Garnett, 
placidly.  She  was  a  pretty-looking  woman,  with  flaxen 
hair,  just  becoming  streaked  with  gray.  Perhaps  she  was 
a  widow,  for  she  wore  a  black  gown,  and  a  cap  with  soft 
floating  ends,  and  had  a  plaintive  look  in  her  eyes. 
hope  he  will  take  to  you,  my  dear,  for  he  nearly  fretted  hia 
little  heart  out  last  night,  bless  him;  and  Mrs.  Morton 
crept  up  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  Mr.  Morton 
was  asleep,  but  nothing  would  do  but  his  old  nurse;  he 
pushed  her  away,  and  it  was  "  Nur,  nur,"  and  we  could 
not  pacify  him.  Poor  Mrs.  Morton  cried  at  last,  and  then 
he  took  to  patting  her  and  laughing  at  her  in  the  drollest 
way." 

"I  will  just  take  off  my  bonnet  and  try  and  make 
friends  with  him,"  I  returned;  and  Hannah,  who  really 
seemed  a  good-natured  creature,  ushered  me  into  the  night 
nursery— a  large,  cheerful  room,  with  a  bright  fire  and  a 
comfortable-looking  bed,  with  a  brass  crib  on  each  side-— 
and  pointed  out  to  me  the  large  chest  of  drawers  and 
hanging  wardrobe  for  my  own  special  use,  and  then  wenf 
down  on  her  knees  to  unstrap  my  box. 

"  Thank  you,  Hannah,  I  will  riot  wait  to  unpack  now, 


MERLE'S  CKUSADK.  45 

as  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Garnett  is  wanted  down-stairs;'7  and  as 
soon  as  she  had  left  the  room  I  opened  the  box  and  t<x)k 
out  the  pretty  cap  and  apron,  and  proceeded  to  invest  Bay- 
self  in  my  nurse's  livery.  1  hope  Aunt  Agatha  had  dot 
made  me  vain  by  that  injudicious  praise,  but  I  certai  aly 
thought  they  looked  very  nice,  and  gave  me  a  sense  of  im- 
portance. 

The  tall  house-maid — Khoda  they  called  her — stared  at 
me  as  I  re-entered,  but  Mrs.  Garnett  gave  me  an  appr  .>v- 
ing  glance;  but  it  was  baby  who  afforded  me  most  satisJ  ac- 
tion, for  he  screwed  up  his  little  rosebud  of  a  mouth  in  rfie 
prettiest  fashion,  and  said,  "  Nur,  nur,"  at  the  same  ti/iie 
holding  out  his  arms  for  me  to  take  him.  I  must  contatss 
I  forgot  Aunt  Agatha  in  that  moment  of  triumph. 

"  He  takes  to  you  quitt  nicely,  my  dear,"  observed  IV/rs. 
Garnett,  in  her  cozy  voige,  as  the  little  fellow  nestled  dc  wii 
contentedly  in  my  arms. 

"  Yes,  you  may  leave  him  to  me  now  I  think, "  I  re- 
turned, quietly,  for  I  felt  that  I  should  be  glad  to  be  /eft 
to  myself  a  little.  I  was  very  thankful  when  my  hint  was 
taken,  and  Mrs.  Garnett  and  Khoda  went  down-stairs  and 
Hannah  disappeared  into  the  next  room.  My  charge  was 
becoming  decidedly  drowsy,  and  after  a  few  turns  up  and 
down  the  room,  I  could  sit  down  in  the  low  chair  by  the  1','re 
and  hear  the  soft,  regular  breathing  against  my  shoulder, 
while  my  eyes  traveled  round  the  walls  of  my  new  home. 

Such  a  pleasant  room  it  was,  large  and  bright  aad 
sunny,  and  furnished  so  tastefully.  The  canaries  wwe 
singing  blithely;  the  Persian  kitten  was  rolled  up  into  a 
furry  ball  on  the  rug;  a  small  Skye  terrier,  who  1  after- 
ward discovered  went  by  the  name  of  Snap,  was  keeping 
guard  over  me  from  a  nest  of  cushions  on  the  big  coivuh 
opposite.  Now  and  then  he  growled  to  himself  softly,  as 
though  remonstrating  against  my  intrusion,  but  whenever 
I  spoke  to  him  gently  he  sat  up  and  begged,  so  I  imagined 
ilia  animosity  was  not  very  bitter. 


46  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

te  My  lines  have  fallen  to  me  in  pleasant  places."  \ 
wonder  why  those  words  came  to  my  mind.  I  wished 
Aunt  Agatha  could  see  me  now,  sitting  in  this  lovely  room, 
with  this  little  cherub  on  my  lap;  she  would  not  be  so  de< 
spondent  about  the  future.  "  I  do  believe  it  will  answer; 
I  mean  to  make  it  answer/'  I  said  to  myself,  energetic- 
ally. Indeed,  I  was  so  absorbed  in  my  reverie,  that  Mrs. 
Morton's  soft  footsteps  on  the  thick  carpet  never  reused 
me  until  I  looked  up  and  saw  her  standing  beside  me, 
smiling,  with  Joyce  beside  her. 

1  colored  with  embarrassment,  and  would  have  ri&en, 
but  she  put  her  hand  on  my  shoulder,  still  smiling,  to  pre- 
vent me.  She  looked  lovelier  than  ever,  in  her  rich  furs, 
and  there  was  a  happier  look  on  her  face  than  I  had  seen 
before,  as  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  her  boy. 

"He  is  sleeping  so  nicely,  the  darling.  Mrs.  Garnett 
tells  me  he  has  taken  to  you  wonderfully,  and  I  hope  my 
little  girl  will  follow  his  example;  it  is  such  a  relief  to  me, 
for  he  nearly  broke  our  hearts  last  night  with  fretting  after 
nurse.  He  looks  a  little  pale,  do  you  not  think  so?"  And 
then  she  stopped  and  looked  in  my  face,  with  a  puzzled 
smile.  "  What  am  I  to  call  you?  I  never  thought  of 
that;  shall  it  be  Miss  Fenton?  But  there  are  the  childien; 
they  could  not  manage  such  a  difficult  name. " 

The  difficulty  had  never  occurred  to  me,  and  for  the 
moment  I  hesitated,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  The  children  will  always  call  me  nurse,  and  I  suppose 
your  household  will  do  the  same,  Mrs.  Morton.  I  think, 
for  yourself,  you  will  find  Merle  the  handiest  name;  it  ia 
short." 

"  It  is  very  pretty  and  uncommon,"  she  returned,  mus- 
ingly, "  and  it  has  this  one  advantage,  it  hardly  sounds 
like  a  Christian  name;  if  you  are  sure  you  do  not  object, 
perhaps  1  will  use  it;  but,"  speaking  a  little  nervously; 
"you  need  not  have  worn  this,"  pointing  to  my  cap. 
fc  You  remember  I  saidjp  to  your  aunt," 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  47 

"  I  think  it  better  to  do  so,"  1  returned,  in  a  decided 
voice;  in  fact,  1  am  afraid  my  voice  w^s  just  a  little  too 
decided  in  speaking  to  my  mistress,  but  I  was  determined 
not  to  give  way  on  this  point.  "  I  wish  to  wear  the  badge 
of  service,  that  I  may  never  forget  for  one  moment  what  I 
owe  to  my  employers,  and  " — here  the  proud  color  suffused 
my  face — "  no  cap  can  make  me  forget  what  is  due  to  my* 
self." 

I  could  see  Mrs.  Morton  was  amused,  and  yet  she  was 
touched  too.  She  told  me  afterward  that  she  thought  me 
that  moment  the  most  original  young  woman  she  had  ever 
seen. 

"You  shall  do  as  you  like,"  she  returned;  but  there 
was  a  little  fun  in  her  eyes.  "It  certainly  looks  very 
nice,  and  I  should  be  sorry  if  you  took  it  off.  I  only  spoke 
for  your  aunt's  sake  and  your  own;  for  myself  I  certainly 
prefer  it." 

"  So  do  I9"  was  my  independent  answer;  "  and  now,  it 
you  please,  I  think  I  will  lay  baby  in  his  cot,  as  he  will 
sleep  more  soundly  there,  and  then  it  will  be  time  to  get 
Joyce  ready  for  her  dinner;"  for,  in  spite  of  my  cap,  I 
had  already  forgotten  to  say  "  Miss  Joyce,"  or  to  call  my 
mistress,  "  ma'am,"  though  1  have  reason  to  know  that 
Mrs.  Morton  was  not  at  all  displeased  with  the  omission. 

"  It  might  have  been  a  princess  in  disguise  waiting  on 
my  children,  Merle/'  she  said  to  me,  many  months  after- 
ward. But  1  knew  nothing  of  the  secret  amusement  with 
which  my  mistress  watched  me  as  she  stood  by  the  nursery 
fire  in  her  furs,  warming  herself;  I  only  knew  that  I  loved 
to  see  her  there,  for  from  the  first  moment  my  heart  had 
gone  out  to  her.  She  was  so  beautiful  and  gentle;  but  it" 
was  not  only  that. 

Baby  woke  just  as  I  was  putting  him  in  his  cot,  and  I 
had  some  little  troubling  in  lulling  him  to  sleep  again* 
Hannah  was  dressing  Joyiw,  uml  as  soon  as  she  had  fin- 
ished, 1  tried  to  make  friends  with  the  child.  She  wa« 


48  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

very  shy  at  first,  but  I  called  Snap,  and  made  a  great  fuss 
ovor  him.  I  was  just  beginning  to  make  way,  when  the 
gong  summoned  Mrs.  Morton  to  luncheon,  and  soon  after 
that  the  nursery  dinner  was  served.  Hannah  waited  upon 
us  very  nicely,  arid  then  took  her  place  at  the  table.  She 
was  a  thoroughly  respectable  girl,  and  her  presence  was 
not;  in  the  least  irksome  to  me.  I  always  thought  it  was  a 
grand  old  feudal  custom  when  all  the  retainers  dined  at 
the  baron's  table,  taking  their  place  below  the  salt.  Sure- 
ly there  can  be  nothing  derogatory  to  human  dignity  in 
that,  seeing  that  we  shall  one  day  eat  bread  together  in  the 
kingdom  of  heaven. 

I  wonder  if  half  the  governesses  fared  so  luxuriously  as  1 
that  day;  certainly  the  chicken  and  bread  sauce  were  deli- 
cious. As  soon  as  we  had  finished,  baby  woke  up,  and  I 
fed  him,  and  then  Joyce  and  he  and  I  had  a  fine  game  of 
romps  together,  in  which  Snap,  and  the  kitten,  and  all 
Joyce's  dolls  joined. 

J  had  dressed  the  kitten  up  in  doll's  clothes,  and  the 
fuo  was  at  its  height  when  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Mor- 
ton came  in.  1  discovered  afterward  that  it  was  his  cus- 
tom to  make  a  brief  visit  to  the  nursery  once  in  the 
four-and-twenty  hours,  sometimes  with  his  wife,  but  often 
alone. 

Joyce  ran  to  him  at  once;  she  was  devoted  to  her  par- 
ants,  especially  to  her  mother,  but  the  boy  refused  to  leave 
:ne  unless  his  father  would  take  the  kitten  too. 

"1  suppose  I  must  humor  you,  my  fine  fellow,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Morton,  pleasantly,  as  he  kissed  the  little  fel- 
low with  affection;  and  then  he  turned  to  me. 

u  I  hope  you  find  yourself  comfortable,  nurse,  and  that 
my  children  are  good  to  you." 

"  They  could  not  be  better,  sir,  and  1  am  quite  com- 
fortable, thank  you,"  I  returned,  with  unusual  meekness. 
I  was  not  a  very  meek  person  generally,  as  Uncle  Keith 
could  testify,  but  there  was  a  subduing  influence  in  Mr- 


MERLE'S    CRUSADE.  49 

Morton's  look  and  voice.  I  must  own  I  was  rather  afraid 
of  him,  and  I  would  not  have  omitted  the  "sir"  for 
worlds,  neither  would  I  have  seated  myself  without  his  bid- 
ding; but  he  took  it  all  quite  naturally. 

"'  As  my  wife  and  1  are  dining  out,  Joyce  will  not  come 
down  in  the  drawing-room  as  usual,"  he  observed,  in  his 
business  -  like  manner.  "Do  you  hear,  my  little  girl? 
Mother  and  I  are  engaged  this  evening,  and  you  must  stay 
upstairs  with  Reggie. " 

'"  Werry  tiresome/'  I  heard  Joyce  say  under  her  breath, 
and  then  she  looked  up  pleadingly  into  her  father's  face. 
"  Her  is  coming  by  and  by,  fardie?" 

*'  Oh,  no  doubt,"  stroking  the  dark  hair;  "  but  mother 
is  driving  at  present.  Now,  say  good-bye  to  me,  Joyce, 
and  you  must  give  me  a  kiss,  too,  my  boy.  Good-even- 
ing, nurse. "  And  that  was  all  we  saw  of  Joyce's  father 
that  day;  only  an  hour  later,  when  the  nursery  tea  was 
ov«T,  and  I  was  undressing  the  boy  by  the  bedroom  fire, 
while  Joyce  stood  beside  me,  removing  the  garments  care- 
fully from  a  favorite  doll,  and  chattering  as  fast  as  a  purl- 
ing; brook,  1  saw  Mrs.  Morton  standing  in  the  door-way, 
looking  at  us. 

Joyce  uttered  a  scream  of  delight,  and  threw  herself 
upon  her.  "  Mine  mother!  mine  mother!'*  she  repeated 
ovjr  and  over  again. 

Mis.  Morton  had  the  old,  tired  look  on  her  face  as  she 
came  forward  rather  hurriedly.  "  I  can  not  stay;  there 
are  people  down-stairs,  and  when  they  have  gone  I  must 
dress  for  dinner. "  She  gave  a  sort  of  harassed  sigh  as  she 
spoke. 

;'  Could  you  not  rat  a  little  first?"  I  returned.  "  You 
have  been  out  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and  you  do  not 
seem  fit  for  the  evening's  fatigue,"  for  there  was  quite  a 
drawn  look  about  the  lovely  mouth. 

She  shook  her  head,  but,  nevertheless,  yielded  when  I 
gave  her  up  my  chair  and  put  the  boy  in  her  arms;  in  hi* 


50  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

little  chemise,  and  with  his  dimpled  shoulders  and  bare 
ho  was  perfectly  irresistible  to  his  mother,  and  I  was  not 
surprised  to  see  her  cover  him  with  kisses.  4 '  My  bonny 
boy,  my  precious  little  son/'  I  could  hear  her  whisper,  in 
a  sort  of  ecstasy,  as  I  picked  up  the  little  garments  from 
the  floor  and  folded  them.  I  seemed  to  know  by  instinct 
that  it  was  only  this  that  she  needed  to  rest  her;  the 
drawn,  weary  lines  seemed  to  vanish  like  magic.  What  a 
sweet  picture  it  was!  But  her  pleasure,  poor  soul,  was 
short-lived;  the  next  moment  she  had  recollected  herself. 

"There  are  all  those  people  in  the  drawing-room! 
What  would  my  husband  say  at  my  neglecting  them? 
Good-night,  my  darling;  be  good;  and  good-night,  Merle." 

She  smiled  at  me  in  quite  a  friendly  fashion,  and  hur- 
ried away  without  another  look, 

"  I  always  do  say  master  does  make  a  slave  of  mistress/' 
grumbled  Hannah,  as  she  filled  the  bath;  "  she  never  lias 
a  moment  to  herself  that  I  can  see.  What  is  the  use  of 
having  children  if  one  never  sees  them?"  And  though  I 
refrained  from  any  comment  I  quite  indorsed  Hannah's 
opinion.  As  soon  as  Hannah  had  cleared  the  room,  I 
shaded  the  light,  and  began  quietly  arranging  my  clothes 
in  the  wardrobe,  and  then  I  sat  down  in  the  low  chair  be- 
side the  fire.  Through  the  open  door  I  could  see  Hannah's 
bent  head  as  she  sat  at  her  sewing.  The  nursery  looked 
warm  and  cozy — a  very  haven  of  comfort;  but  1  wanted  to 
be  alone  for  a  time  to  think  over  the  occurrences  of  the 
day.  "  To  commune  with  one's  own  heart  and  to  be 
still."  How  good  it  is  to  do  that  sometimes!  For  a  few 
moments  my  thoughts  lingered  lovingly  in  the  little  cot- 
tage at  Putney.  Aunt  Agatha  and  TJncle  Keith  would  be 
talking  of  me,  I  knew  that.  I  could  almost  hear  the  pity- 
ing tones  of  Aunt  Agatha's  voice,  "  Poor  child!  How 
lonely  she  will  feel  without  us  to-night!"  Did  1  feel  lone- 
ly? I  hardly  think  so;  on  the  contrary,  I  had  the  warm, 
satisfied  conviction  at  my  heart  that  T  was  in  my  righ* 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  51 

place,  the  place  for  which  I  was  most  fitted.  How  tender- 
ly would  I  watch  over  these  helpless  little  creatures  com- 
mitted to  my  care!  how  sacred  would  be  my  charge! 
What  a  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  love  them,  to  be  able  to 
win  their  affection  in  return! 

1  had  such  a  craving  in  my  heart  to  be  loved,  and  hith- 
erto I  had  no  one  but  Aunt  Agatha.  It  seemed  to  me, 
somehow,  as  though  I  must  cry  aloud  to  my  human  broth- 
ers and  sisters  to  let  me  love  them  and  take  interest  in 
their  lives;  to  suffer  me  to  glean  beside  them,  like  loving 
Ruth  in  those  Eastern  harvest  fields,  following  the  reapers, 
lest  happily  a  handful  might  fall  to  my  share;  for  who 
would  wish  to  go  home  at  eventide  empty-handed  as  well 
as  weary? 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEELER'S    FARM. 

AFTER  all,  the  difficulties  were  like  Bunyan's  chained 
lions — they  did  not  touch  me.  How  true  it  is  that  "  one 
half  our  cares  and  woes  exist  but  in  our  thoughts. "  I  had 
predicted  for  myself  all  manner  of  obstacles  and  troubles, 
and  was  astonished  to  find  how  smoothly  and  easily  the 
days  glided  by. 

.From  the  beginning  I  had  found  favor  in  my  mistress's 
eyes,  and  Mrs.  Garnett  had  also  expressed  herself  in  warm 
terms  of  approbation.  "  Miss  Fenton  was  a  nice,  proper 
young  lady,  who  gave  herself  no  airs,  and  was  not  above 
her  duties;  and  Master  Reggie  was  already  as  good  as  gold 
with  her."  This  was  Mrs.  Garnett's  opinion;  and  as  she 
was  a  great  authority  in  the  household,  I  soon  experienced 
the  benefit  of  her  good-will. 

With  the  exception  of  Hannah,  who  generally  called  me 
"  nurse  "  or  "  miss,"  I  was  "  Miss  Fenton  "  with  the  rest 
of  the  household;  even  the  tall  house-maid,  Rhoda,  who, 


*2  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

had  charge  of  our  rooms,  invariably  addressed  me  by  that 
name. 

Mrs.  Garnett  generally  prefaced  her  remarks  with  "  My 
dear."  1  found  out  afterward  that  she  was  the  widow  of 
a  merchant  captain,  and  a  little  above  her  position;  but 
Anderson,  the  butler,  and  Simon  and  Charles,  the  foot- 
men, and  T  ravers,  Mrs.  Morton's  maid,  always  accost- 
ed me  by  the  name  of  Miss  Fenton;  but  I  had  very  lit- 
tle to  do  with  any  of  them — just  a  civil  good-morning  ua  I 
passed  through  the  hall  with  the  children.  The  messages 
to  the  nursery  were  always  brought  by  Rhoda;  and  though 
Mrs.  Garnett  and  Travers  sometimes  came  in  for  a  fcw 
minutes'  gossip  I  never  permitted  the  least  familiarity  on 
Travers's  part,  and,  to  do  her  justice,  she  never  gave  me 
any  cause  for  offense.  She  was  a  superior  person,  devc.ted 
to  her  mistress,  and  as  she  and  Anderson  had  been  en- 
gaged for  years,  she  had  almost  the  staid  manners  or  a 
married  woman. 

1  soon  became  used  to  my  new  duties,  and  our  dviily 
routine  was  perfectly  simple;  early  rising  was  neve;,'  a 
hardship  to  me — 1  was  too  strong  and  healthy  to  mind  it 
in  the  least.  Hannah  lighted  the  fire,  that  the  ro^m 
should  be  warm  for  the  children,  and  brought  me  a  cup  of 
tea.  At  first  I  protested  against  such  an  unusual  in- 
dulgence, but  as  Hannah  persisted  that  nurse  always  1  *ad 
her  cup  of  tea,  I  submitted  to  the  innovation. 

Dressing  the  children  was  merely  play- work  to  me,  \^  ith 
Hannah  to  assist  in  emptying  and  filling  the  baths.  Wl  ien 
breakfast,  was  over,  and  Joyce  and  I  had  cleaned  and  Jed 
the  canaries,  and  attended  to  the  flowers,  Hannah  got  the 
perambulator  ready,  and  we  went  into  the  park  or  Ken- 
sington Gardens. 

Joyce  generally  paid  a  visit  to  her  mother's  dressing- 
room  before  this,  and  en  our  way  out  baby  was  taken  U 
for  a  few  minutes  in  his  little  velvet  pelisse  and  hat.  We 
generally  found/Mrs^ Morton  reading  her  letters  while 


MERLE'S    CRl'SADK.  63 

Travers  brushed  out  her  hair  and  arranged  it  for  fcfee  day. 
She  used  to  look  up  so  brightly  when  she  saw  us,  and 
and  such  a  lovely  color  would  come  into  her  face  at  the 
sight  of  her  boy,  but  she  never  kept  him  long.  "  Be 
quick,  Travers/'  she  would  say,  putting  the  child  in  my 
arms.  "  I  can  hear  your  master's  footsteps  on  the  stajrs, 
and  he  will  be  waiting  for  me."  And  then  she  kissed  her 
hand  to  the  children,  and  took  up  her  letters  again;  but 
sometimes  I  caught  a  stifled  sigh  as  we  went  out,  as  though 
the  day's  work  was  distasteful  to  her,  and  she  would  will- 
ingly have  changed  places  with  me. 

On  our  return  the  children  had  their  noonday  sleep,  and 
Hannah  and  I  busied  ourselves  with  our  sewing  until  tlkey 
woke  up,  and  then  the  nursery  dinner  was  brought  up  by 
Khoda.  Hannah  always  waited  upon  us  before  she  would 
consent  to  take  her  place. 

In  the  afternoon  I  sat  at  my  work  and  watched  the  chil- 
dren at  their  play,  or  played  with  them.  When  Reggie 
was  tired  I  nursed  him,  and  in  the  twilight  I  sung  to  them 
or  told  them  stories. 

I  never  got  quite  used  to  Mr.  Morton's  visits— they 
always  caused  me  embarrassment.  His  duties  at  the  House 
occupied  him  so  much  that  he  had  rarely  time  to  do  more 
than  kiss  his  children.  Sometimes  Reggie  refused  to  be 
friendly,  and  struck  at  his  father  with  his  baby  hand,  but 
Mr.  Morton  only  laughed. 

"Baby  thinks  fardie  is  only  a  man/ '  Joyce  observed 
once,  on  one  of  these  occasions,  "  but  him  is  fardie." 

Mr.  Morton  looked  a  little  grave  over  this  speech. 

"Never  mind,  my  little  girl;  Reggie  is  only  a  baby, 
and  will  know  his  father  soon."  But  I  think  he  was 
grieved  a  little  when  baby  hid  his  naughty  little  face  on 
my  shoulder,  and  refused  to  make  friends.  "  Go,  go/' 
was  all  he  condescended  to  observe,  in  answer  to  his 
father's  bland Lshmcnts. 

Mrs.  Morton  sdd<ui»  c»me  up  to  the  nursery  until  I  was 


54 

putting  the  children  to  bed,  but  even  then  she  never  stayed 
for  more  than  ten  minutes.  There  were  always  visitors 
below,  or  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  or  there  were  let- 
ters to  write.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Morton's  wife  had 
no  sinecure's  post.  I  think  no  hard-worked  seamstresi 
worked  harder  than  Mrs.  Morton  in  those  days. 

Now  and  then,  when  the  children  were  sleeping  sweetly 
in  their  little  cots,  and  I  was  reading  by  the  fire,  or  writ- 
ing to  Aunt  Agatha,  or  busy  about  some  work  of  my  own, 
I  would  hear  the  soft  swish  of  a  silk  dress  in  the  corridor 
outside,  and  there  would  be  Mrs.  Morton,  looking  lovelier 
than  ever,  in  evening-dress. 

"  I  have  just  come  to  kiss  my  darlings,  Merle,"  sh& 
would  say.  "  Dinner  is  over,  and  I  am  going  to  the  thea- 
tei  with  some  friends;  they  are  waiting  for  me  now,  but  I 
had  such  a  longing  to  see  them  that  I  could  not  resist  it." 

"  It  is  a  bad  night  for  you  to  go  out,"  I  observed  once. 
"  Ilhoda  says  it  is  snowing,  and  you  have  a  little  cough, 
Travers  tells  me — " 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  she  replied,  quickly;  "I  take  cokl 
very  easily."  But  1  noticed  she  shivered  a  little,  and 
drew  her  furred  mantle  closer  round  her.  "  How  warm 
and  cozy  you  look  here!"  glancing  round  the  room,  which 
certainly  looked  the  picture  of  comfort,  with  the  lamp  on 
the  big  round  table,  and  Hannah  working  beside  it;  and 
then  she  took  up  my  book  and  looked  at  it.  It  was  a  copy 
of  Tennyson's  poems  that  Aunt  Agatha  had  given  me  on 
my  last  birthday. 

"If  you  want  books,  Merle,"  she  said,  kindly,  "Mr. 
Morton  has  a  large  library,  and  I  know  he  would  lend  you 
any,  if  you  will  only  be  careful  of  them.  Charles,  the 
under  footman,  has  charge  of  the  room.  If  you  go  early 
in  the  morning,  and  write  out  a  list  of  what  you  wish,  and 
give  it  to  Travers,  I  will  see  you  are  supplied. " 

"  Thank  you;  oh,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Morton!"  I  ex- 
claimed,  gratefully,  for  I  was  fond  of  reading,  and  the  win- 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

ter  evenings  were  long,  and  a  book  was  better  company 
than  HannahN,  though  she  was  a  nice  girl,  and  I  never 
found  her  in  my  way.  I  used  to  talk  to  her  as  we  sat  at, 
woi-k  together.  She  was  a  little  shy  with  me  at  first,  but 
after  a  time  her  reserve  thawed.  She  was  a  farmers' 
daughter,  the  youngest  but  one  of  twelve  children,  and  her 
mother  was  dead.  She  told  me  she  had  five  sisters  in  serv 
ice,  and  all  doing  well;  but  the  eldest,  Molly,  stayed  at 
home  to  take  care  of  her  father  and  brothers. 

I  grew  interested  at  last  in  Hannah's  simple  narrative. 
It  was  a  new  experience  of  life  for  me,  for  1  had  ne-ver 
taken  much  notice  of  any  servant  but  Patience  before,  1 
liked  hearing  about  Wheeler's  Farm,  as  it  was  called,  the 
old  black-timbered  house,  with  the  great  pear-tree  in  the 
court-yard  and  the  mossy  trough  out  of  which  the  little 
black  pigs  drank,  and  round  which  strutted  the  big  tur- 
key-cock Gobbler,  with  his  train  of  wives. 

*'  The  court-yard  is  a  pretty  sight  of  a  summer's  morn- 
ing," Hannah  said  once,  growing  quite  rosy  with  anima- 
tion, "  when  Molly  comes  out  with  her  apron  full  of  corn 
for  the  chicks.  I  do  love  to  see  them  all  coming  round 
her-,  turkeys,  and  geese,  and  chicks,  and  fowls,  and  the 
little  bantam  cock  always  in  the  middle.  And  there  are 
the  pigeons,  too,  miss;  some  of  them  will  fly  on  Molly's 
shoulder,  and  eat  out  of  her  hand.  You  should  see  Luke 
throw  up  the  tumblers  high  in  the  air,  and  watch  them 
flutter  down  again  on  his  arms  and  hands,  not  minding 
him  more  than  if  he  were  a  branch  of  the  pear-tree  itself." 

Who  was  this  Luke  who  was  always  coming  into  Han- 
nah's talk?  I  knew  he  was  not  one  of  the  five  brothers, 
for  1  was  acquainted  with  all  their  names.  I  knew  quite 
well  that  Matthew  and  Thomas  worked  on  the  farm,  and 
that  Mark  had  gone  to  the  village  smithy;  the  twins,  Dan 
and  Bob,  were  still  at  school,  and  Dan  was  lame.  Perhaps 
Luke  was  engaged  to  Molly.  1  hazarded  the  question 
>nee.  How  Hannah  blushed  as  she  answered  me! 


86  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

"  Luke  IK  Luke  Armstrong,  a  neighbor's  son,  but  his 
father  is  a  hard,  miserly  sort  of  a  man;  for  all  he  has 
Scroggins's  Mill,  and  they  do  say  has  many  stockings  full 
of  guineas.  His  wife  is  no  better  than  himself,  and  his 
brother  Martin  bids  fair  to  be  the  same.  It  is  a  wretched 
home  for  Luke,  and  ever  since  he  was  a  lad  he  has  taken 
kindly  to  our  place.  You  see  father  is  hearty,  and  so  is 
Molly;  they  like  to  offer  the  bit  and  sup  to  those  as  need 
it,  though  it  is  only  a  bit  of  bread  and  cheese  or  a  drop  of 
porridge.  Father  hates  a  near  man,  and  he  hates  old 
Armstrong  like  poison/5 

"  Is  Luke  your  sister  Molly's  sweetheart?"  I  hazarded 
after  this.  Hannah  covered  her  face  and  began  to  laugh. 

"  Please  excuse  me/'  she  said  at  Jast,  when  her  amuse- 
ment had  a  little  subsided,  "  but  it  does  sound  so  droll, 
Molly  having  a  sweetheart!  1  am  sure  she  would  never 
think  of  such  a  thing.  What  would  father  and  the  boys 
do  without  her?" 

"Bless  me,  Hannah!"  I  returned,  a  little  impatientl} ,, 
"  you  have  five  other  sisters,  you  tell  me;  surely  one  of 
them  could  help  Molly,  if  she  needed  it;  why,  you  might 
go  home  yourself!" 

;<  Oh,  but  none  of  us  understand  the  cows  and  the  poul- 
try and  the  bees  like  Molly,  unless  it  is  Lydia,  and  she  is 
dairy-maid  up  at  the  Bed  Farm.  They  do  say  Martin 
Armstrong  wants  Lydia;  but  I  hope,  in  spite  of  his  father's 
guineas,  she  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  Scroggins's  Mill  or 
to  Martin.  You  see,  miss,"  went  on  Hannah,  waxing 
more  confidential  as  my  interest  became  apparent, 
"  Wheeler's  Farm  is  not  a  big  place,  and  a  lot  of  children 
soon  crowded  it  out.  Mother  was  a  fine  manager,  and 
taught  Molly  all  her  ways,  but  they  could  not  make  the 
attics  bigger,  and  there  was  not  air  enough  to  be  healthy 
for  four  girls,  with  a  sloping  roof  and  a  window  not  much 
bigger  than  your  two  hands.  Anil  then  the  creeper  grew 
right  to  the  chimneys;  and  though  folk,  and  especially  tht 


CRUSADE.  5? 

aquire,  Lyddy's  master,  said  how  pretty  it  was,  and  called 
Wheelers  Farm  an  ornament  to  the  whole  parish,  it- 
choked  up  the  air  somehow;  and  when  Annie  took  a  low 
fever,  Doctor  Price  lectured  mother  dreadfully  about  it. 
But  father  would  not  have  the  creeper  taken  down,  so 
mother  said  there  were  too  many  of  us  at  home,  and  some 
of  us  girls  ought  to  go  to  service.  Squire  Hawtry  always 
wanted  Lydia,  and  Mrs.  Morrison,  the  vicar's  wife,  took 
Emma  into  the  nursery;  and  Dorcas,  she  went  as  maid  of 
all  work  to  old  Miss  Powell;  and  Jennie  and  Lizzie  fomid 
places  down  Dorlcote  way;  but  Mrs.  Garnett,  who  kiww 
my  father,  coaxed  him  to  let  me  come  to  London/' 

4 'And  you  are  happy  here?''  I  hazarded;  but  a&  1 
looked  up  from  the  cambric  frill  I  was  hemming,  I  noticed 
the  girl's  head  drooped  a  little. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  happy  and  comfortable  here,  miss,"  ishe 
returned,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  for  I  am  fond  of 
children,  and  it  is  a  pleasant  thought  that  I  am  saving- 
father  my  keep,  and  putting  aside  a  bit  of  money  fo::  a 
rainy  day;  but  there's  no  denying  that  I  miss  the  far/n, 
and  Molly,  and  all  the  dumb  creatures.  Why,  Jess,  the 
brindled  cow,  would  follow  me  all  down  the  field,  and 
thrust  her  wet  mouth  into  my  hand  if  I  called  her;  and  as 
to  Rover,  Luke's  dog — "  But  here  I  interrupted  her. 

"Ah,  to  be  sure!  How  about  your  old  playfellow, 
Luke?  I  suppose  you  miss  him,  too?" 

Hannah  colored  but  scmehow  managed  to  evade  my 
question;  but  after  a  week  or  two  her  reserve  thawed,  and 
1  soon  learned  how  matters  stood  between  her  and  Luke 
Armstrong. 

They  were  not  engaged — she  would  not  allow  that  for  a 
moment.  Why,  what  would  father  and  Molly  say  if  she 
were  to  promise  herself  to  a  young  fellow  who  only  earned 
enough  for  his  own  keep?  For  Miller  Armstrong  was  that 
close  that  he  only  allowed  his  youngest  son  enough  to  buy 
iiis  clothes,  and  took  all  his  hard  work  in  exchange  for 


58  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

food  and  shelter;  while  Martin  could  help  himself  to  as 
much  money  as  he  chose,  only  he  was  pretty  nearly  as 
miserly  as  his  father.  Molly  was  always  going  on  at  Luke 
to  leave  Scroggins's  Mill  and'  better  himself  among  stran- 
gers, and  there  was  some  talk  of  his  coming  nearer  Lon- 
don, only  he  was  so  loath  to  leave  the  place  where  he  was 
born.  Well,  if  she  must  own  it,  Luke  and  she  had  broken 
a  sixpence  between  them,  and  she  had  promised  Luke  that 
she  would  not  listen  to  any  other  young  man;  and  she  had 
kept  her  word,  and  she  was  saving  her  money,  because,  if 
Luke  ever  made  a  little  home  for  her,  she  would  not  like 
to  go  to  it  empty-handed.  All  the  girls  were  saving 
money.  Lydia  had  quite  a  tidy  little  sum  in  the  savings 
bank,  and  that  is  what  made  Martin  want  her  for  a  wife; 
for  though  Lydia  had  saving  qualities,  she  was  even  plainer 
than  Molly,  and  no  one  expected  her  to  have  a  sweetheart. 

I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess  that  Hannah's  artless  talk 
interested  me  greatly.  True,  she  was  only  a  servant,  but 
the  simplicity  and  reality  of  her  narrative  appealed  to  my 
sympathy;  the  very  homeliness  of  her  speech  seemed  to 
stamp  it  more  forcibly  on  my  mind.  I  seemed  to  picture 
it  all:  the  low-ceiled  attic  crowded  with  girls;  the  honest 
farmer  and  his  strapping  sons;  hard-featured  Molly  milk- 
ing her  cows  and  feeding  her  poultry;  young  Luke  Arm- 
strong and  his  dog  Eover  strolling  down  to  Wheeler's 
Farm  for  a  peep  at  his  rosy-faced  sweetheart.  Many  an 
evening  1  banished  the  insidious  advances  of  homesickness 
by  talking  to  Hannah  of  her  home,  and  there  were  times 
when  I  almost  envied  the  girl  her  wealth  of  home  affec- 
tion. 

It  seems  to  me  that  we  lose  a  great  deal  in  life  by  clos- 
ing our  ears  and  hearts  to  other  people's  interests;  the 
more  we  widen  our  sympathies,  and  live  in  folk's  lives, 
the  deeper  will  be  our  growth.  Some  girls  simply  exist: 
they  never  appear  to  be  otherwise  than  poor  sickly  plants, 
and  fail  to  thrust  out  new  feelers  in  the  sunshine. 


OE.  59 

In  those  quiet  evening  hours  when  I  had  work  to  do  for 
my  children,  and  dare  not  indulge  myself  in  writing  to 
Aunt  Agatha,  or  reading  some  deeply  interesting  book  that 
Travers  had  procured  for  me  that  morning,  Hannah's  in- 
noeent  rustic  talk  seemed  to  open  a  new  door  to  my  inner 
consciousness,,  to  admit  me  into  a  fresh  phase  of  existence. 
A  sentence  I  had  read  to  Aunt  Agatha  that  Sunday  af  ter* 
noon  often  haunted  me  as  I  listened:  "  Behold,  how  green 
this  valley  is,  also  how  beautiful  with  lilies.  1  have  known 
many  laboring  men  that  have  got  good  estates  in  this  Valley 
of  Humiliation;"  and  I  almost  held  my  breath  as  I  remem- 
bered that  our  Lord  had  been  a  laboring  Man. 

Hannah  never  encroached  in  any  way;  she  always  tacitly 
acknowledged  the  difference  in  our  stations,  and  never 
presumed  on  these  conversations,  but  she  let  me  see  that 
she  was  fond  of  me  by  rendering  me  all  sorts  of  little  serv- 
ices; and  on  my  side  I  tried  to  be  useful  to  her. 

She  was  very  clever  at  work,  and  I  taught  her  embroid- 
ery. Her  handwriting  and  reading  were  defective — she 
had  been  rather  a  dunce  at  school,  she  told  me;  and  I 
helped  her  to  improve  herself  on  both  these  points;  fur- 
ther than  this  I  could  not  go. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  shame  one  evening  when  she 
came  into  the  nursery  and  found  me  writing  a  letter  to 
Aunt  Agatha  with  a  dictionary  beside  me,  for  there  was 
no  trouble  to  which  1  would  not  put  myself  if  I  could  only 
avoid  paining  those  loving  eyes. 

"  Why,  miss/7  she  exclaimed  in  an  astonished,  voice, 
''  that  is  what  I  am  obliged  to  do  when  I  write  to  father  or 
Molly!  Molly  is  a  fine  scholar,  and  so  is  Lydia;  the  hard- 
est words  never  puzzle  them." 

I  must  confess  that  my  face  grew  hot  as  I  stammered 
out  my  explanation  to  Hannah.  I  felt  that  from  that 
night  I  should  lose  uiste  in.hr-'  or  only  an  enlight- 

ened mind  could  solve  sur-h  tin  enigma;  but  I  need  not 
Jmvii  buuu  afraid:  trufciHB 


CKUSADB. 

'*  I  would  not  fret  about  it  if  I  were  you,  miss,*'  ob« 
served  Hannah,  pleasantly;  "  it  seems  to  me  it  is  only  lik« 
Saint  Paul's  thorn  in  the  flesh.  Molly  says  sometimes, 
w  hen  father  worries  about  the  cattle  or  the  bad  harvest, 
*"  that  most  people  have  a  messenger  of  Satan  to  buffet 
them;'  that  is  a  favorite  speech  of  Molly's.  We  should 
not  like  to  be  born  crooked  or  lame,  as  she  often  tells  us; 
but  it  might  be  our  lot,  for  all  that,  and  we  should  get 
into  heaven  just  as  fast.  It  is  not  how  we  do  it,  but  how 
w'.:  feel  when  doing  it  —  that  is  Molly's  proverb,  and  the 
most  of  us  have  our  burden  to  carry  some  part  of  the 
way/' 

44  True,  Hannah,  and  I  will  carry  mine;"  but  as  1  spoke 
the  tears  were  in  my  eyes,  for  though  her  words  were  true, 
th  3  thorn  was  very  piercing,  and  one  had  to  get  used  to  the 


CHAPTER  VIL 

THE   FASHION   OF  THIS   WORLD. 

[  HAVE  said  that  from  the  first  moment  I  had  felt  a  sin- 
gular attraction  toward  my  new  mistress.  As  the  days 
wmt  on,  and  I  became  better  acquainted  with  the  rare 
beauty  and  unselfishness  of  her  nature,  my  respect  and 
afluction  deepened.  I  soon  grew  to  love  Mrs.  Morton  as  I 
ha  ire  loved  few  people  in  this  life. 

My  service  became  literally  a  service  of  love;  it  was  with 
no  sense  of  humiliation  that  I  owned  myself  her  servant; 
obedience  to  so  gentle  a  rule  was  simply  a  delight.  I  an« 
ticipated  her  wishes  before  they  were  expressed,  and  an 
ever-deepening  sense  of  the  sacredness  and  dignity  of  my 
charge  made  me  impervious  to  small  slights  and  moved  me 
to  fresh  efforts. 

.[  was  no  longer  tormented  by  my  old  feelings  of  useless- 
ness  and  inefficiency.  The  despondent  fears  of  my  girl- 
hood (and  girlhood  is  oHfito-  troubled  by  these  unwholesom* 


61 

fincies),  thit  there  was  no  special  work  for  me  in  the 
human  vineyard,  had  ceased  to  trouble  me.  I  was  a 
bread-winner,  and  my  food  tasted  all  ,the  sweeter  for  that 
thought.  1  was  preaching  silently  day  by  day  my  new 
crusade.  Every  morning  I  woke  cheerfully  to  the  simple 
routine  of  the  day's  duties.  Every  night  I  lay  down  be<- 
tween  my  children's  cots  with  a  satisfied  conscience  and  a 
mind  at  rest,  while  the  soft  breathings  of  the  little  creat- 
ures besicle  me  seemed  to  lull  me  to  sleep. 

It  was  a  strangely  quiet  life  for  a  girl  of  two-and-twenty, 
but  I  soon  grew  used  to  it.  When  I  felt  dull  I  read;  at 
other  times  I  sung  over  my  work,  out  of  pure  light-heart- 
ed less,  and  I  could  hear  Joyce's  shrill  little  treble  joining 
in  from  her  distant  corner. 

"  1  wish  I  could  sing  like  you,  Merle/'  Mrs.  Morton 
once  said  to  me,  when  she  had  interrupted  our  duet; 
"  your  voice  is  very  sweet  and  true,  and  deserves  to  be  cul- 
tiu  ated.  Since  my  baby's  death  my  voice  has  wholly  left 
w#." 

'''It  will  come  back  with  time  and  rest/' I  returned, 
reassuringly;  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"Rest;  that  is  a  word  I  hardly  know.  When  I  was  a 
gii  I  I  never  knew  life  would  be  such  a  fatiguing  thing. 
Tbere  are  too  many  duties  for  the  hours;  one  tries  to  fit 
th*m  in  properly,  but  when  night  comes  the  sense  of  fail- 
ure haunts  one's  dreams." 

4  That  is  surely  a  symptom  of  overwork,"  was  my  re- 
m?rk  in  answer  to  this. 

*  Perhaps  you  are  right,  but  under  the  circumstances  it 
ca?  i  not  be  helped.  If  only  I  could  be  more  with  my  dar- 
lings,  and  enjoy  their  pretty  ways;  but  at  least  it  is  a  com- 
fo/t  to  me  to  know  they  have  so  faithful  a  nurse  in  my 
absence." 

(She  was  always  making  these  little  speeches  to  me;  it 
was  one  of  her  gracious  ways.  She  could  be  grateful  to  a 
servant  for  doing  he/  duty.  She  was  not  one  of  those  peo- 


63  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

pie  who  take  everything  as  a,  mutter  of  comm,  who  treat 
their  domestics  and  hirelings  as  though  they  were  merfc 
machines  for  the  day's  wOrk;  on  the  contrary,  she  recog- 
nized their  humanity;  she  would  sympathize  as  tenderly 
with  a  sick  footman  or  a  kitchen-maid  in  trouble  as  she 
would  with  any  of  her  richer 'neighbors.  It  was  this  large- 
mmdedness  and  beneficence  that  made  her  household  wor- 
ship her.  When  I  learned  more  about  her  former  life,  11 
marveled  at  her  grand  self-abnegation.  I  grew  to  under- 
stand that  from  the  day  of  her  marriage  she  had  simply 
effaced  herself  for  her  husband's  sake;  her  tastes,  her 
favorite  pursuits,  had  all  been  resigned  without  a  murm  ur, 
that  she  might  lead  his  life. 

She  had  been  a  simple  country  girl  when  he  married 
her;  her  bees,  her  horse,  and  her  father's  dogs  had  been 
her  great  interests;  to  ride  with  her  father  over  his  farms 
had  been  her  chief  delight.  She  had  often  risen  with  the 
lark,  and  was  budding  her  roses  amid  the  dews. 

When  the  young  rising  politician,  Alick  Morton,  ivad 
first  met  her  at  a  neighboring  squhe's  house,  her  sweet 
bloom  and  unconscious  beauty  won  him  in  spite  of  him- 
self, and  from  the  first  hour  of  their  meeting  he  vowed  to 
himself  that  Violet  Cheriton  should  be  his  wife. 

No  greater  change  had  ever  come  to  a  woman.  In  spite 
of  her  great  love,  there  must  have  been  times  when  Violet 
Morton  looked  back  on  her  innocent  and  happy  girlhood 
with  something  like  regret,  if  ever  a  true-hearted  wife  and 
mother  permits  herself  to  indulge  in  such  a  feeling. 

Mr.  Morton  was  a  devoted  husband,  but  he  was  an  auto- 
crat, and,  in  spite  of  many  fine  qualities,  was  not  without 
that  selfishness  that  leavens  many  a  man's  nature.  He 
wanted  his  wife  to  himself;  his  busy  ambition  aimed  high; 
politics  was  the  breath  of  his  life;  unlike  other  men  in  this, 
that  he  lived  to  work,  instead  of  working  to  live. 

These  natures  know  no  fatigue;  they  are  intolerant  of 
difficulties;  inaction  means  death  to  them.  Mr.  Morton 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  63 

was  a  committee  man ;  he  worked  hard  for  his  party.  H« 
was  a  philanthropist  also,  and  took  up  warmly  certain  pub- 
lic charities.  His  name  was  becoming  widely  known;  peo- 
ple spoke  of  him  as  a  rising  man  who  would  be  useful  to 
his  generation.  If  he  dragged  his  wife  at  his  triumphal 
chariot  wheel,  no  one  blamed  him;  'this  class  of  men  need 
real  helpmates.  In  these  cases  the  stronger  nature  rules: 
the  weaker  and  most  loving  submits. 

Mrs.  Morton  was  a  submissive  wife;  early  and  late  she 
toiled  in  her  husband's  service;  their  house  was  a  rallying 
point  for  his  party.  On  certain  occasions  the  great  draw- 
ing-rooms were  flung  open  to  strangers;  meetings  were 
held  on  behalf  of  the  charities  in  which  Mr.  Mortm  was 
interested;  there  were  speeches  made,  in  which  he  largely 
distinguished  himself,  while  his  wife  hovered  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  crowd  and  listened  to  him. 

He  kept  no  secretary,  and  his  correspondence  was  im- 
mense. Mrs.  Morton  had  a  clear,  characteristic  handwrit- 
ing, and  could  write  rapidly  to  dictation,  and  many  an 
teour  was  spent  in  her  husband's  study. 

This  was  at  first  no  weariness  to  her — she  loved  to  be 
beside  him  and  share  his  labors.  What  wife  begrudges 
time  and  work  for  her  husband?  But  she  soon  found  that 
other  labors  supervened  that  were  less  congenial  to  her. 

Mr.  Morton  was  overworked;  the  demands  on  his  time 
were  unceasing.  Violet  must  visit  the  wards  of  his 
favorite  hospitals,  and  help  him  in  keeping  the  accounts. 
She  must  represent  him  in  society,  and  kept  up  constant 
intercourse  with  the  wives  of  the  members  of  their  party 
during  the  season.  She  worked  harder  even  than  he  did. 
Her  bloom  faded  under  the  withering  influence  of  late 
hours  and  hot  rooms.  Night  after  night  she  bore,  with 
sweet  graciousness,  the  weary  round  of  pleasures  that 
pallec1  on  her.  It  was  a  martyrdom  of  human  love;  for, 
alas!  in  the  hurry  of  this  unsatisfactory  life,  the  Divine 
voice  had  grown  dim  and  far  off  to  the  weary  ear  of  Vioiet 


CBtfSAWt 

Mortanj  th«  clanging  metallic  earth  b-  deade&ad 

the  heavenly  harmonies. 

Sometimes  a  sad,  pathetic  look  would  come  into  h«r 
eyes,  Was  she  thinking,  I  wonder,  of  the  slim,  bright- 
eyed  girl  budding  roses  in  the  old-fashioned  garden,  whiile 
the  brown  bees  hummed  round  her?  Was  the  fragrance 
of  the  lilies — those  tall  white  lilies  of  which  she  so  ofi^n 
spoke  to  me — blotting  out  the  perfume  of  hot-house  flow- 
ers and  the  heavy  scents  of  the  crowded  ball-room? 

It  was  a  matter  of  intense  surprise  to  me  that  Mr.  Mir-  * 
ton  seemed  perfectly  unconscious  of  this  immense  st  if- 
sacrifice.  He  could  not  be  ignorant,  surely,  that  a  moil  <or 
desires  to  be  with  her  children,  and  that  a  woman's  tender 
frame  is  susceptible  to  fatigue.  Selfish  as  he  was,  he  lot  ed 
her  too  well  to  impose  such  intolerable  burdens  on  L-er 
strength,  if  he  had  only  known  them  to  be  burdens.  L'-ut 
her  cheerfulness  blinded  him.  How  could  he  know  wiie 
was  overtasked,  and  often  sad  at  heart,  when  she  never 
complained,  when  she  sealed  her  lips  so  generously? 

If  she  had  once  said,  "  I  am  so  tired,  Alick;  I  can  not 
write  for  you,"  he  would  at  once  have  pressed  her  to  rest; 
but  men  are  so  dense,  as  Aunt  Agatha  says.  Their  gwat 
minds  overlook  little  details.  They  take  in  wide  vistas-  of 
landscape,  and  never  see  the  little  nettles  that  are  chokimg 
up  the  field  path.  Women  would  have  noticed  the  nettles 
at  once,  and  spied  out  the  gap  in  the  hedge  beside. 

I  had  not  been  many  weeks  in  the  house  before  1  found 
Sunday  was  no  day  of  rest  to  my  employers,  and  yet  they 
were  better  than  many  other  worldly  people.  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton always  went  to  church  in  the  morning,  and,  unless  he 
were  too  tired  or  busy,  Mr.  Morton  went  too.  They  were 
careful,  too,  that  their  servants  should  enjoy  as  far  as  pos- 
sible the  privileges  of  the  day.  The  carriage  was  never 
used,  so  the  horses  and  the  coachman  were  able  to  rest. 
They  dined  an  hour  earlier,  and  invited  only  one  or  tw« 
intimate  friends  to  join  them,  and  there  was  always  sacred 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  65 

mneic  in  the  evening.  But  there  was  no  more  leisnrt  for 
thought  on  tnat  cfay  than  on  any  other.  In  the  afternoon 
Mr.  Morton  wrote  his  letters  and  read  his  paper,  and  Mrs. 
Morton  had  her  share  of  correspondence;  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon  was  given  to  callers,  or  Mrs.  Morton  accom- 
panied her  husband  for  a  walk  in  the  park.  She  was 
always  very  careful  of  her  toilet  on  these  occasions,  and  if 
it  were  Traverses  Sunday  out,  my  services  were  in  requisi- 
tion. I  had  once  offered  to  assist  her,  and  I  suppose  I  had 
*  given  satisfaction.  More  than  once  Mr.  Morton  had  found 
fault  with  some  part  of  her  dress,  and  she  had  gone  back 
to  her  dressing-room  with  the  utmost  promptitude  to 
change  it. 

" 1  have  not  satisfied  my  husband's  taste,  Merle,"  she 
would  say,  as  cheerfully  as  possible:  "  will  you  help  me  to 
do  better?"  And  she  would  stand  before  the  glass  with 
such  a  tired  look  on  her  lovely  face,  as  1  brought  her  a 
fresh  mantle  and  bonnet. 

I  hate  men  to  be  overcritical  with  their  wives,  but  I  sup- 
pose it  is  a  greater  compliment  than  not  beiug  able  to  see 
if  they  are  wearing  their  best  or  common  bonnet.  I  con- 
fess it  must  be  trying  to  a  woman  when  a  man  says — and 
how  often  he  does  say  it! — "  What  a  pretty  gown  that  is, 
my  dear.  Have  I  seen  it  before?"  when  the  aggravating 
sreature  must  know  that  she  wore  it  all  last  summer,  and 
perhaps  the  previous  summer  too. 

I  found  out  that  Mrs.  Morton  was  ill-satisfied  with  the 
way  they  spent  Sundays. 

I  remember  one  Sunday  evening  I  was  sitting  in  the 
twilight  with  Reggie  on  my  lap  and  Joyce  on  her  little 
stool  beside  me.  I  had  been  teaching  her  a  new  verse  of 
her  hymn,  and  she  had  learned  to  say  it  very  prettily.  We 
were  both  very  busy  over  it,  when  the  door  opened, 
Mrs.  Morton  came  m. 

Joyce  jumped  up  and  ran  to  her  at  once, 


66  JfERLE'S    CRUSADE. 

"  I  know  it,  mother — my  Sunday  hymn — it  is  such  a 

pretty  one/' 

"  Is  it,,  my  darling?  Then  suppose  you  let  mother  heas 
.it."  And  Joyce,  folding  her  hands  in  her  quaint,  olcU 
fashioned  way,  began  very  readily: 

"  *  I  love  to  hear  the  story 

Which  angel  voices  tell, 
How  once  the  King  of  Glory 

Came  down  on  ^arth  to  dwell. 
I  am  both  weak  and  sinful, 

But  this  I  surely  know, 
The  Lord  came  down  to  save  me, 

Because  He  loved  me  so.'  " 

"  Very  pretty,  indeed,  Joyce,"  observed  Mrs.  Morton, 
rather  absently,  when  the  child  had  finished.  But  Joyce 
looked  up  in  her  face  wistfully. 

"  Do  you  ever  say  hymns,  mother  dear?" 

*'  I  sing  them  in  church,  my  pet." 

"  But  you  never  teached  them  to  me,  mother;  they  are 
all  nurse's  hymns,  the  little  one  and  the  long  one,  and  the 
little  wee  hymn  1  say  with  my  prayers.  Would  you  like 
to  hear  my  little  wee  hymn,  mother  dear?" 

"  1  will  hear  all  you  know,  my  darling/'  But  there 
were  tears  in  the  beautiful  eyes  as  she  listened. 

"  How  nicely  she  says  them!  1  am  glad  you  teach  her 
such  pretty  hymns,  Merle,"  as  the  child  ran  off  to  fetch 
Snap,  who  was  whining  for  admittance.  "  Somehow  it 
seems  more  like  the  Sunday  of  old  times  up  here — so  quiet, 
so  peaceful.  We  must  do  as  the  world  does,  I  suppose; 
but  these  secular,  bustling  Sundays  are  not  to  my  taste." 

Her  words  jarred  on  me,  and  I  replied  rather  too  quick- 
Jy,  considering  my  position,  "  Are  we  obliged  to  follow  a 
bad  fashion?  That  is  indeed  going  with  the  crowd  to  d« 
fffl." 

She  looked  up  in  some  surprise.    It  must  have  beeo  * 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  6? 

new  thing  to  the  petted  mistress  of  the  household  to  hear 
herself  so  sharply  rebuked. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon/'  I  exclaimed,  penitently;  "  I 
had  no  right  to  say  that;  I  forgot  to  whom  I  was  speak- 
ing." 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,  Merle,"  she  returned,  in  her 
sweet  way;  "it  is  good  for  all  of  us  to  hear  the  truth 
sometimes.  Tt  was  foolish  of  me  to  say  that.  I  only  mean 
that  in  our  house  it  is  very  difficult  not  to  follow  the 
world's  custom." 

"  Very  difficult,  indeed,"  I  acquiesced;  but  she  con- 
tinued to  look  at  me  thoughtfully. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid  of  saying  what  is  in  your  mind;  you 
may  speak  to  me  plainly,  if  you  will.  You  are  my  chil- 
dren's nurse,  but  I  can  not  forget  that  in  many  ways  we 
are  equals.  You  never  intrude  this  fact  on  my  notice,  but 
it  is  none  the  less  apparent.  1  know  our  Sundays  are  ter- 
ribly secular,"  as  1  continued  silent;  "sometimes  I  wish 
it  were  not  so,  for  my  children's  sake." 

"  Not  for  your  own  sake,  Mrs.  Morton?" 

A  distressed  look  came  over  her  face. 

"  1  seem  to  have  no  time  to  wish  for  anything." 

"  1  could  well  believe  that;  but,  Mrs.  Morton,  it  seema 
to  me  as  though  we  owe  some  duty  to  ourselves.  If  we 
neglect  the  highest  part  of  ourselves  we  are  committing  a 
sort  of  mental  «uicide.  How  often  has  Aunt  Agatha  told 
me  that!" 

"  How  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  anxiously.  # 

"  We  all  need  a  quiet  time  for  thought.  It  always  seems 
to  me  that  on  Sunday  one  lays  down  one's  burdens  for  a 
time.  It  is  such  a  rest  to  shut  out  the  ^  orld  for  one  day 
in  the  week,  to  forget  the  harass  of  one's  work,  to  take  up 
higher  duties,  to  lift  one's  standard  afresh,  and  prove  one's 
armor.  It  is  just  like  abiding  in  the  twits  fo-r  shelter  and 
rest  in  tho  heat  of  battle," 

I  had  forgottea  the  fynvt&n**  i*  <uur  »& 


68  "MERLE'S  CRUSADB. 

talking  to  my  mistress  just  as  though  she  were  Aunt 
Agatha.  Something  seemed  to  compel  me  to  speak;  1  fell 
a  strange  sort  of  trouble  oppressing  me,  as  though  I  saw  a 
beautiful  soul  wandering  out  of  the  way.  She  seemed 
moved  at  my  words,  and  it  was  several  minutes  before  she 
spoke  again. 

"  Your  words  recall  the  old  Sundays  at  my  own  dear 
home,"  she  observed,  presently.  <fc  Do  you  not  love  Sun- 
days in  the  country,  Merle?  The  very  birds'  seem  to  sing 
more  sweetly,  and  the  stillness  of  which  you  speak  seems 
in  the  very  air.  My  Sundays  were  very  different  then. 
We  lived  near  the  church,  and  we  could  hear  the  chiming 
of  the  bells  as  we  walked  through  the  village.  I  taught  in 
the  Sunday-school;  I  recollect  some  of  the  children's  names 
now.  Father  always  liked  us  to  go  to  the  evening  service. 
I  remember,  too,  we  invariably  sung  Bishop  Ken's  evening 
hymn.  One  evening  a  little  robin  found  its  way  into  the 
church.  I  remember  Mr.  Andrews,  our  vicar,  was  just 
reading  that  verse,  "  Yea,  the  sparrow  hath  found  her  a 
house,  and  the  swallow  a  nest  for  herself,  where  she  may 
lay  her  young,"  when  we  looked  up  and  saw  the  little 
creature  fluttering  round  the  chancel.  Oh,  those  sweet 
old  Sundays!"  And.  here  she  broke  off  and  sighed. 

1  thought  it  best  to  say  no  more,  and  leave  her  to  those 
tender  memories.  A  word  in  season  may  do  much,  but  I 
was  young,  and  had  no  right  to  teach  with  authority.  I 
suppose  she  understood  my  reticence,  for  she  looked  at  me 
fery  kindly  as  she  rose  from  her  seat. 

"  It  does  me  good  to  come  up  here,  Merle;  I  always 
have  a  more  rested  feeling  when  I  go  down  to  my  duties. 
If  I  did  not  feel  that  they  were  real  duties  that  called  me, 
I  should  be  very  unhappy." 

She  bade  her  children  good-night,  and  left  the  nursery. 
What  made  me  take  up  my  Bible,  I  wonder,  and  read  the 
following  verse?  "  In  this  thing  the  Lord  pardon  thy  serv- 
l*nt,  that  when  wj&fi&J*»th  into  the  house  of  Birnmon 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  6S 

k>  worship  thwe,  and  he  leaneth  on  my  hand,  and  I  bow 
myself  in  the  house  of  Rimmon,  the  Lord  pardon  thy  serv- 
ant this  thing. " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
"LABORARE  EST  ORARE." 

MY  mistress  (how  I  loved  to  call  her  by  that  name!)  wai 
beginning  to  give  me  her  confidence.  In  a  little  while  I 
grew  quite  at  my  ease  with  her. 

She  would  sit  down  sometimes  and  question  me  about 
the  book  I  was  reading,  or,  if  we  talked  of  the  children, 
she  would  ask  my  opinion  of  them  in  a  way  that  showed 
she  respected  it. 

She  told  me  more  than  once  that  her  husband  was  quite 
satisfied  with  me;  the  children  thrived  under  my  care, 
Reggie  especially,  for  Joyce  was  somewhat  frail  and  deli- 
cate. It  gratified  me  to  hear  this,  for  a  longer  acquaint- 
ance with  Mr.  Morton  had  not  lessened  my  sense  of  awe  in 
his  presence  (I  had  had  to  feel  the  pressure  of  his  strong 
will  before  I  had  been  many  weeks  in  his  house,  and  though 
1  had  submitted  to  his  enforced  commands,  they  had  cost 
me  my  only  tears  of  humiliation,  and  yet  alJ  the  time  I 
knew  he  was  perfectly  just  in  his  demands).  The  occasion 
was  this.  * 

It  was  a  rule  that  when  visitors  asked  to  see  the  children 
— a  very  frequent  occurrence  when  Mrs.  Morton  received 
at  home — that  the  head  nurse  should  bring  them  into  the 
blue  drawing-room,  as  it  was  called.  On  two  afternoons  I 
had  shirked  this  duty.  With  all  my  boasted  courage,  the 
idea  of  facing  all  those  strangers  was  singularly  obnoxious; 
I  chose  to  consider  myself  privileged  to  infringe  this  part 
of  my  office.  I  dressed  the  children  carefully,  and  bade 
Hannah  take  them  to  their  mother.  I  thought  the  girl 
looked  at  me  and  hesitated  a  moment,  but  her  habitual  re- 
spect kept  her  silent* 


5u  Ml.  JUSADE. 

My  (Dereliction  of  duty  escaped  notice  on  the  first 
noon;  Mr.  Morton  was  occupied  with  a  committee,  and  Mrs, 
Morton  was  too  gentle  and  considerate  to  hint  that  my 
presence  was  desired,  but  on  the  second  afternoon  Hannai 
came  up  looking  c,  little  flurried. 

Master  had  not  seemed  pleased  somehow;  he  had  spoken 
quite  sharply  before  the  visitors,  and  asked  where  nurse 
was,  that  she  had  not  brought  the  children  as  usual,  and 
the  mistress  had  looked  uncomfortable,  and  had  beckoned 
him  to  her. 

I  took  no  notice  of  Hannah's  speech,  for  I  had  a  hasty 
tongue,  and  might  have  said  things  that  I  should  have  re- 
gretted afterward,  but  my  temper  was  decidedly  rufflecj.. 
I  took  Reggie  as  quickly  as  possible  from  her  arms,  and 
carried  him  off  into  the  other  room.  I  wanted  to  be  alone 
and  recover  myself. 

I  cried  a  good  deal,  much  to  Reggie's  distress;  he  kept 
patting  my  cheeks  and  calling  to  me  to  kiss  him,  so  that 
at  last  I  was  obliged  to  leave  off.  I  had  indeed  met  with 
a  difficulty.  1  could  hear  the  roaring  of  the  chained  lions 
behind  me,  but  I  said  to  myself  that  1  would  not  be  beaten ; 
if  my  pride  must  suffer,  I  should  get  over  the  unpleasant- 
ness in  time.  Why  should  I  be  afraid  of  people  just  be- 
cause they  wore  silks  and  satins  and  were  strangers  to  me? 
My  fears  were  undignified  and  absurd;  Mr.  Morton  was 
right;  I  had  shirked  my  duty. 

I  hoped  that  nothing  more  would  be  said  about  it,  and  1 
determined  that  the  following  Thursday  I  would  face  the 
ordeal;  but  I  was  not  to  escape  so  easily. 

When  Mrs.  Morton  came  into  the  nursery  that  everiiDg 
to  old  the  children  good-night,  I  thought  she  looked  a  lit- 
tle preoccupied.  She  kissed  them,  and  asked  IPO,  rather 
nervously,  to  follow  her  into  the  night  nursery. 

"  Merle/'  she  said,  rather  hurriedly,  "  I  hope  you  will 
not  mind  what  I  am  going  to  say.  My  husband  has  asked 
m»  to  speak  to  you.  He  seemed  a  little  pat  oat  this  after* 


n 

noon;  it  did  not  please  him  that  Hannah  should  take  your 
place  with  the  children. " 

"  Hannah  told  me  so  when  she  came  up,  Mrs.  Morton/' 

In  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  restrain  my  temper,  I  am 
af  rgnd  my  voice  was  a  little  sullen.  I  had  never  answered 
her  in  such  a  tone  before.  I  would  obey  Mr.  Morton;  I 
knew  my  own  position  well  enough  for  that,  but  they 
should  both  see  that  this  part  of  my  duty  was  distasteful 
to  me. 

To  my  intense  surprise  she  took  my  hand  and  held  it 
gently. 

'*  I  was  afraid  you  would  feel  it  in  this  way,  Merle,  but 
I  want  you  to  look  upon  it  from  another  point  of  view. 
You  know  that  my  husband  forewarned  you  that  ypur 
position  would  entail  difficulties.  Hitherto  things  have 
been  quite  smooth;  now  comes  a  duty  which  you  own  by 
your  manner  to  be  bitterly  distasteful.  I  sympathize  with 
you,  but  my  husband's  wishes  are  sacred;  he  is  very  par- 
ticular on  this  poiut.  Do  you  think  for  my  sake,  that  you 
could  yield  in  this?" 

She  still  held  my  hand,  and  1  own  that  the  foolish  feel- 
ing crossed  me  that  I  was  glad  that  she  should  know  my 
hand  was  as  soft  as  hers-,  but  as  she  spoke  to  me  in  that 
beseeching  voice  all  sullenness  left  me. 

"There  is  very  little  that  I  would  not  do  for  your  sake, 
Mrs.  Morton,  when  you  have  been  so  good  to  me.  Please 
do  riot  say  another  word  about  it.  Mr.  Morton  was  right; 
I  have  been  utterly  in  the  wrong;  I  feel  that  now.  ^exfc 
Thursday  I  will  bring  down  the  children  into  the  drawing- 
room/' 

She  thanked  me  so  warmly  that  she  made  me  feel  still 
more  ashamed  of  myself;  it  seemed  such  a  wonderful  thing 
that  my  mistress  should  stoop  to  entreat  where  she  couli 
by  right  command,  but  she  was  very  tolerant  of  a  girl's 
waywardpess.  She  did  not  leave  me  even  then,  but 
changed  the  subject  Sfee  gat  down  and  talked  to  me  tot 


ft  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

a  few  minutes  about  myself  and  Aunt  Agatha.  I  tad  net 
been  home  yet,  and  she  wanted  me  to  fix  some  afternoon 
when  Mrs.  Garnett  or  Travers  could  take  my  place. 

'•'  We  must  not  let  you  get  too  dull,  Merle/'  she  said, 
gently.  "  Hannah  is  a  good  girl,  but  she  can  not  be  a 
companion  to  you  in  any  sense  of  the  word. "  And  per- 
haps in  that  she  was  right. 

I  woke  the  following  Thursday  with  a  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness oppressing  me,  so  largely  do  our  small  fears  magnify 
themselves  when  indulged.  As  the  afternoon  approached 
I  grew  quite  pale  with  apprehension,  and  Hannah,  with 
unspoken  sympathy — she  had  wonderful  tact  for  a  girl — 
only  hinted  at  the  matter  in  a  roundabout  way. 

I  had  dressed  Reggie  in  his  turquois-blue  velvet  and 
was  fastening  my  clean  frilled  apron  over  my  black  gown, 
when  Hannah  said,  quietly,  "  Well,  it  is  no  wonder  mas- 
ter likes  to  show  people  what  sort  of  nurse  he  has  got.  I 
don't  think  any  one  could  look  so  nice  in  a  cap  and  apron 
as  you  do,  Miss  Fenton.  It  is  just  as  though  you  were 
making  believe  to  be  a  servant  like  me,  and  it  would  not 
do  anyhow." 

1  smiled  a  little  at  Hannah's  homely  compliment,  but  1 
confess  it  pleased  me  and  gave  me  courage.  I  felt  still 
more  like  myself  when  my  boy  put  his  dimpled  arms  round 
my  neck,  and  hid  his  dear  face  on  my  shoulder.  I  could 
not  persuade  him  to  loosen  his  hold  until  his  mother  spoke 
to  him;  and  there  was  Joyce  holding  tightly  to  my  gown 
all  the  time. 

The  room  was  so  full  that  it  almost  made  me  giddy.  It 
was  good  of  Mrs.  Morton  to  rise  irom  her  seat  and  meet 
me,  but  all  her  coaxing  speeches  would  not  make  Eeggie 
do  more  than  raise  his  head  from  my  shoulder.  He  sat  in 
my  arms  like  a  baby  prince,  beating  off  every  one  with  his 
little  hands,  and  refusing  even  to  go  to  his  father. 

Every  one  wanted  to  kiss  him,  and  I  carried  him  from 
one  to  another.  Joyce  had  left  me  at  once  for  her  mother. 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  73 

Some  of  the  ladies  questioned  me  about  the  children. 
They  spoke  very  civilly,  but  their  inquisitive  glances  made 
my  face  burn,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  I  made  suita- 
ble replies.  Once  1  looked  up,  and  saw  that  Mr.  Morton 
was  watching  me.  His  glance  was  critical,  but  not  un- 
kind. I  had  a  feeling  then  that  he  was  subjecting  me 
purposely  to  this  test.  I  must  carry  out  my  theory  into 
practice.  I  am  convinced  all  this  was  in  his  mind  as  he 
looked  at  me,  and  I  no  longer  bore  a  grudge  against  him. 

Not  long  afterward  I  had  an  opportunity  of  learning 
that  he  could  own  himself  fallible  on  some  points.  He 
was  exceedingly  just,  and  could  bear  a  rebuke  even  from 
an  inferior,  if  it  proved  him  to  be  clearly  in  the  wrong. 

One  afternoon  he  came  into  the  nursery  to  play  with  the 
children  for  a  few  minutes.  He  would  wind  up  their 
mechanical  toys  to  amuse  them.  Reggie  was  unusually 
fretful,  and  nothing  seemed  to  please  him.  He  scolded 
both  his  father  and  his  walking  doll,  and  would  have  noth- 
ing to  say  to  the  learned  dog  who  beat  the  timbrels  and 
nodded  his  head  approvingly  to  his  own  music.  Presently 
he  caught  sight  of  his  favorite  woolly  lamb  placed  out  of 
his  reach  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  began  screaming  and 
kicking. 

'*  .Naughty  Reggie/'  observed  his  father,  complacently, 
and  he  was  taking  down  the  toy  when  1  begged  him  re- 
spectfully to  replace  it. 

He  looked  at  me  in  some  little  surprise. 

"  I  thought  he  was  crying  for  it/'  he  said,  somewhat 
perplexed  at  this. 

"  Reggie  must  not  cry  for  things  after  that  fashion,"  I 
returned,  firmly,  for  I  felt  a  serious  principle  was  involved 
here.  "He  is  only  a  baby,  but  he  is  very  sensible,  and 
knows  he  is  naughty  when  he  screams  for  a  thing.  1 
never  give  it  to  him  until  he  is  good." 

"  .Indeed/'  a  little  dryly.    "  Wall,  he  seems  far  off  from 


goodness  now.  What  do  you  mean  by  making  all  thai 
nolse>  my  boy?" 

Reggie  was  in  one  of  his  passions,  it  was  easy  to  see  thatj 
the  toy  would  have  been  flung  to  the  ground  in  his  present 
mood;  so,  without  looking  at  his  father  or  asking  his  per- 
mission, 1  resorted  to  my  usual  method,  and  laid  him  down 
screaming  lustily  in  his  little  cot. 

"  There  baby  must  stop  until  he  is  good,"  I  remarked, 
quietly;  and  I  took  my  work  and  sat  down  at  some  little 
distance,  while  Mr.  Morton  watched  us  from  the  other 
room.  I  knew  my  plan  always  answered  with  Reggie,  and 
the  storm  would  soon  be  over.  - 

In  two  or  three  minutes  his  scream*  ceased,  and  I  heard 
a  penitent  "Gurgle  do;"  then  "  Nur,  nur."  I  went  to 
him  directly,  and  in  a  moment  he  held  out  his  arms  to  be 
lifted  out  of  the  cot. 

".Is  Reggie  quite  good?"  1  asked,  as  I  kissed  him. 

"  God,  ood,"  was  the  triumphant  reply,  and  the  next 
moment  he  was  cuddling  his  lamb. 

"  I  own  your  method  is  the  best,  nurse,"  observed  Mr. 
Morton,  pleasantly.  "  My  boy  will  not  be  spoiled,  I  see 
that.  1  confess  I  should  have  given  him  the  toy  directly 
he  screamed  for  it;  you  showed  greater  wisdom  than1  his 
father." 

It  is  impossible  to  say  how  much  this  speech  gratified 
me.  From  that  moment  I  liked  as  well  as  respected  Mr. 
Morton. 

My  first  holiday  arrived  somewhat  unexpectedly.  A 
little  before  the  nursery  dinner  Travers  brought  a  message 
from  Mrs.  Morton  that  Joyce  was  to  go  out  with  her  in 
the  carriage,  and  that  if  I  liked  to  have  the  afternoon  and 
evening  to  myself,  Mrs.  Garnett  could  take  charge  of 
Reggie. 

The  offer  was  too  tempting  to  be  refused.  I  do  not 
thhak  I  ever  kne^  the  meaning:  of  the  word  holiday  before. 


MERLE'S  CKUSADE.  75 

No  school-girl  felt  in  greater  spirits  than  I  did  during  din- 
ner-time. 

It  was  a  lovely  April  afternoon.  I  took  out  of  my  ward- 
robe a  soft  gray  merino — my  best  dress — and  a  little  gray 
velvet  bonnet  that  Aunt  Agatha's  skillful  hands  had  made 
for  me.  1  confess  I  looked  at  myself  with  some  com- 
placency. "  No  one  would  take  me  for  a  nurse,"  I 
thought. 

In  the  hall  I  encountered  Mr.  Morton;  he  was  just  go- 
ing out.  For  the  moment  he  did  not  recognize  me.  He 
removed  his  hat  hurriedly;  no  doubt  he  thought  me  a 
stranger. 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  his  mistake,  and  then  he 
said,  rather  awkwardly:  "  I  did  not  know  you,  Miss  Fen- 
ton.  I  am  glad  you  have  such  a  lovely  afternoon  for  your 
holiday;  there  seems  a  look  of  spring  in  the  air,"  all  very 
civilly,  but  with  his  keen  eyes  taking  in  every  particular 
of  my  dress. 

I  heard  from  Mrs.  Garnett  afterward  that  he  very  much 
approved  of  Miss  Fen  ton's  quiet,  lady-like  appearance;  and 
as  he  was  a  very  fastidious  man,  this  was  considered  high 
praise.  There  was  more  than  a  touch  of  spring  in  the  air; 
the  delicious  softness  seemed  to  promise  opening  buds. 
Down  Exhibition  Road  the  flower-girls  were  busy  with 
their  baskets  of  snowdrops  and  violets,  i  bought  a  few 
for  Aunt  Agatha,  then  I  remembered  that  Uncle  Keith 
had  a  weakness  for  a  particular  sort  of  scone,  and  I  bought 
some  and  a  slice  of  rich  Dundee  seed-cake.  I  felt  like  a 
school-girl  providing  a  little  home  feast;  but  how  pleasant 
it  is  to  cater  for  those  we  love!  I  was  glad  when  my  short 
journey  was  over,  and  I  could  see  the  river  shimmering  a 
steely  blue  in  the  spring  sunshine.  The  old  church  towers 
seemed  more  venerable  and  picturesque.  As  I  walked 
down  High  Street  I  looked  at  the  well-known  shops  with 
an  interest  1  never  felt  before. 

When  I  reached  the  cottage  I  rang  very  softly,  thM 


f6  MERLE'S  CRTJSATOL 

Aunt  Againa  should  not  be  disturbed.  Patience  uttered  a 
pleased  exclamation  when  she  caught  sight  of  me.  "  Is  it 
really  yourself,  Miss  Merle?  I  could  hardly  believe  my 
eyes.  Mistress  is  in  there  reading/'  pointing  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. "  She  has  not  heard  the  bell,  Fll  be  bound,  so 
you  can  surprise  her  finely. 9> 

I  acted  on  Patience's  hint,  and  opened  the  door  noise- 
}  lessly.     How  cozy  the  room  looked  in  the  fire-light!  and 
*  could  any  sight  be  more  pleasant  to  my  eyes  than  dear 
Aunt  Agatha  sitting  in  her  favorite  low  chair,  in  her  well- 
worn  black  silk  and  pretty  lace  cap?    I  shall  never  forget 
her  look  of  delight  when  she  saw  me. 

"Merle!    Oh,  you  dear  child,  do  you  mean  it  is  really 
you?    Come  here  and  let  me  look  at  you.     I  want  to  see 
what  seven  weeks  of  hard  work  has  done  for  you. " 
But  Aunt  Agatha's  eyes  were  very  dim  as  she  looked. 
"  There,  sit  down,  and  get  warm,"  giving  me  an  ener- 
getic little  push,  "  and  tell  me  all  about  it.     Your  letters 
never  do  you  justice,  Merle.     I  must  hear  your  experience 
from  your  own  lips." 

What  a  talk  that  was!  It  lasted  all  the  afternoon,  until 
Patience  came  in  to  set  the  tea-table,  and  we  heard  Uncle 
Keith's  boots  on  the  scraper;  even  that  sound  was  musical 
to  me.  When  he  entered  the  room  1  gave  him  a  good  hug, 
and  had  put  some  of  my  violets  in  his  button-hole  long  be- 
fore he  had  left  off  saying  "  Hir-rumph  "  in  his  surprise. 

"  She  looks  well,  Agatha,  does  she  not?"  he  observed, 
as  we  gathered  round  the  tea-table.  "  So  the  scheme  has 
keid  out  for  seven  weeks,  eh?  You  have  not  come  to  tell 
us  you  are  tired  of  being  a  nurse?" 

"No,  indeed,"  I  returned,  indignantly.  "I  am  de- 
termined to  prcrve  to  you  and  the  whole  world  that  my 
theory  is  a  sensible  one.  I  am  quite  happy  in  my  work — 
perfectly  happy,  Uncle  Keith.  I  would  not  part  with  my 
children  for  worlds.  Joyce  is  so  amusing,  and  as  for  Reg- 


MERLE?    CRUSADE.  77 

gie,  h«  if  inch  a  darling  fihat  I  could  not  lira  without 
him." 

"It  is  making  a  woman  of  Merle,  I  can  see  that,"  ob- 
served Aunt  Agatha,  softly.  "  I  confess  I  did  not  like  th« 
plan  at  first,  but  if  you  make  it  answer,  child,  you  will 
have  me  for  a  convert.  You  look  just  as  nice  and  just  a? 
much  a  lady  as  you  did  when  you  were  leading  a  useless 
life  here.  Never  mind  if  in  time  your  hands  grow  a  little 
less  soft  and  white;  that  is  a  small  matter  if  your  heart  ex- 
pands and  your  conscience  is  satisfied.  You  remember 
your  favorite  motto,  Merle?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Aunt  Agatha,  Labor  are  est  or  are.  Now 
1  must  go,  for  Uncle  Keith  is  pulling  out  his  watch,  which 
means  I  have  to  catch  my  train." 

But  as  I  trudged  over  the  bridge  beside  him  in  the  star- 
Lght,  and  saw  the  faint  gleams  lying  on  the  dark,  shadowy 
river,  a  voice  seemed  to  whisper  to  my  inner  conscious- 
ness, "  Courage,  Merle;  a  good  beginning  makes  a  glad 
ending.  Hold  fast  to  your  motto,  Labor  are  est  or  are." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BERENG ARIA. 

THE  bright  spring  days  found  me  a  close  prisoner  to  the 
house.  The  end  of  April  had  been  unusually  chilly,  and 
one  cold  rainy  night  Reggie  was  taken  with  an  attack  of 
croup. 

It  was  a  very  severe  attack,  and  for  an  hour  or  two  my 
alarm  was  excessive.  Mrs.  Morton  was  at  a  fancy  ball, 
and  Mr.  Morton  was  attending  a  late  debate,  and,  to  add 
to  my  trouble,  Mrs.  Garnett,  who  would  at  once  have 
come  to  my  assistance,  was  confined  to  her  bed  with  a 
slight  illness. 

Travers  had  no  experience  in  these  eases,  and  her  pret- 
ence was  perfectly  useless.  Hannah,  frightened  and  half 
awake  as  she  was,  ww  JiOmo^tolpf  ul.  Happily  Ander- 


78  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

son  was  still  np,  and  he  undertook. at  once  to  go  for  thfc 
doctor,  adding,  of  his  own  accord,  that  he  would  go  round 
to  the  stables  on  his  return,  and  send  the  carriage  off  for 
liis  mistress.  "  She  is  not  expected  home  until  three,  and 
it  is  only  half  past  one,  but  she  would  never  forgive  us  i* 
she  were  not  fetched  as  quickly  as  possible. " 

t  thanked  Anderson,  and  begged  Hannah  to  replenish 
the  bath  with  hot  water.  Happily,  I  knew  what  remedies 
to  use;  my  former  experience  in  my  school-fellow's  nursery 
proved  useful  to  me  now.  1  remembered  how  the  doctor 
had  approved  of  what  I  had  done,  and  I  resolved  to  do  ex- 
actly the  same  for  Eeggie.  Frightened  as  I  was,  I  am 
thankful  to  know  my  fears  did  not  impede  my  usefulness; 
I  did  all  I  could  to  relieve  my  darling,  and  Hannah  sec- 
onded my  efforts.  I  am  sure  Travers  wished  with  all  her 
heart  to  help  us,  but  she  had  no  nerve,  and  her  lamentable 
voice  made  me  a  trifle  impatient. 

It  was  a  great  relief  when  Anderson  appeared  with  Dr. 
Myrtle.  He  waited  for  a  few  minutes,  to  hear  from  the 
doctor  that  all  danger  had  been  averted  by  the  prompt 
remedies,  and  then  he  went  in  search  of  Stephenson.  It 
was  some  time  before  we  heard  the  sound  of  carriage 
wheels. 

Keggie  was  still  wrapped  in  a  blanket  on  my  lap,  and 
had  just  fallen  asleep,  worn  out  by  the  violence  of  the 
remedies  still  more  than  by  the  attack.  I)r.  Myrtle  whis- 
pered to  me  not  to  move,  as  he  would  speak  to  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton down-stairs,  and  enforce  on  her  the  need  of  quiet.  It 
would  have  been  grievous  to  wake  the  exhausted  little 
creature,  and  I  was  quite  content  to  sit  holding  him  in  my 
lap  until  morning,  if  Dr.  Myrtle  thought  it  was  well  for 
me  to  do  so. 

I  had  forgotten  all  about  the  fancy  ball,  and  my  start 
when  I  saw  Mrs.  Morton  standing  in  the  door-way  almost 
Eeggie.  I  really  thought  for  a  moment  that  1  was 
J  iearnM  ^rra4  Jjbot  she  had  tabu  the 


MEBLB*S   CRUSADE.  V$ 

\ 

character  of  Berengaria,  wife  of  the  lion-hearted  Richard, 
out  for  the  moment  I  was  too  confused  to  identify  her. 
She  was  dressed  in  dark-blue  velvet,  and  her  gown  and 
mantle  were  trimmed  with  ermine;  she  wore  a  glittering 
belt  that  looked  as  though  it  were  studded  with  brilliants, 
and  her  brown  hair  hung  in  loose  braids  and  plaits  under  a 
gold  coronet.  As  she  swept  noiselessly  toward  us,  1  could 
see  the  tears  were  running  down  her  cheeks,  and  her  bosom 
Tras  heaving  under  her  ermine. 

"Oh,  Merle!"  she  whispered,  in  a  voice  of  agony,  as 
she  knelt  down  beside  us,  "  to  think  my  boy  was  in  dan- 
ger, and  his  mother  was  decked  out  in  this  fool's  garb;  it 
makes  me  sick  only  to  remember  it;  oh>  my  baby,  my 
baby!"  and  she  leaned  her  head  against  my  arm  and 
sobbed,  not  loudly,  but  with  the  utmost  bitterness. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Morton,"  I  returned,  gently,  "  it  was  not 
your  fault;  no  one  could  have  foreseen  this.  Reggie  had  a 
little  cold,  but  1  thought  it  was  nothing.  Oh,  what  are 
you  doing?"  for  she  had  actually  kissed  me,  not  once,  but 
twice. 

"  Let  me  do  it,  Merle,"  returned  my  sweet  mistress; 
"  I  am  so  grateful  to  you,  and  so  will  my  husband  be  when 
he  knows  all.  Doctor  Myrtle  says  he  never  saw  a  nurse 
who  understood  her  duties  so  well;  everything  had  been 
done  for  the  child  before  he  came.  " 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Agatha,  if  only  you  and  Uncle  Keith  had 
heard  that!" 


We  had  talked  in  whispers,  but  nothing  seemed  to 
turb  Reggie.  A  moment  after  Mr.  Morton  came  hurriedly 
into  the  nursery;  he  was  very  pale  and  discomposed,  and  a 
sort  of  shock  seemed  to  pass  over  him  as  he  saw  his  wife. 

:<  Violet,"  he  whispered,  as  she  clung  to  him  in  a  pas* 
sion  of  weeping,  "  this  has  unnerved  you,  but  indeed  Doc- 
tor Myrtle  says  our  boy  will  do  well  Mv  darling,  will  y<Xi 
nofc  try  to  oomfcrt 


80  MERLE'S  CBUSADE. 

"  1  was  at  Lady  S 's  ball  when  Muriel,  our  preciom 

feaby — oh,  you  remember,  Alick  " — for  she  seemed  unable 
to  go  on.  Poor  woman!  no  wonder  her  tears  flowed  at 
auch  a  memory.  Mrs.  Garnett  told  me  reluctantly,  when 
I  questioned  her  the  next  day,  that  baby  Muriel  had  been 
taken  with  a  fit  when  Mrs.  Morton  and  her  husband  were 
at  a  ball,  and  the  mother  had  only  arrived  in  time  to  see 
the  infant  breathe  its  last. 

"  Yes,  yes/'  he  said,  soothing  her,  "  but  nothing  could 
have  saved  her,  you  know.  Doctor  Myrtle  told  you  so; 
and  you  were  only  spared  the  pain  of  seeing  her  suffer. 
Try  to  be  sensible  about  it,  my  dearest;  our  baby  has  been 
ill,  but  everything  has  been  done  for  him;  and  now  he  is 
relieved,  poor  little  fellow.  We  have  to  thank  you  for 
that,  Miss  Fenton.  How  nicely  you  are  holding  him !  he 
looks  as  comfortable  as  possible,"  touching  the  boy's  cheek 
with  his  forefinger.  4<  Now,  my  love,  let  me  relieve  you 
of  this  cumbrous  thing/'  taking  off  her  coronet;  "  this 
mantle  will  unfasten,  too,  I  see.  Now,  suppose  you  put 
on  your  dressing-gown,  and  ask  Travers  to  make  you  and 
Miss  Fenton  some  tea.  I  will  not  be  so  cruel- as  to  tell  you 
to  go  to  bed  " — as  she  looked  at  him  pleadingly.  "  If 
you  were  a  wise  woman  you  would  go,  but  I  suppose  I 
must  humor  you;  but  you  must  get  rid  of  all  this  frip- 
pery." 

"  Oh,  Alick,  how  good  you  are!"  she  said,  gratefully; 
and  in  a  few  minutes  more  she  returned  in  her  warm, 
quilted  dressing-gown,  with  her  hair  simply  braided;  she 
looked  even  more  beautiful  than  she  had  done  as  Berea- 
garia. 

Mr.  Morton  soon  left  us  after  placing  his  wife  in  my 
charge.  The  night  passed  very  quickly  away  after  that. 
When  Reggie  stirred  I  put  him  in  his  cot,  and  begged  Mrs. 
Morton  to  lie  down  on  the  bed  beside  him.  She  did  not 
Sefuse:  emotion  had  exhausted  her,  but  her  eyes  never 
dosed.  She  told  me  iwut  afterward  she  dared  not  steep; 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  SI 

feet  the  old  dream  should  torment  her  of  the  dead  baby's 
Mnd,  that  she  could  never  warm  with  all  her  efforts. 

"  I  can  feel  it  quite  icy  cold  in  mine,  and  sometimes 
there  is  a  cold  face  on  my  bosom,  but  nothing  ever  warms 
ihem,  and  when  I  wake  up  I  am  shivering  too." 

I  could  not  tell  what  was  passing  through  the  poor 
mother's  mind,  but  1  did  not  like  the  feverish  look  in  her 
wide,  distended  eyes.  Mr.  Morton  was  right,  and  the 
shock  of  her  boy's  illness  had  utterly  unnerved  her.  I 
thought,  perhaps  she  was  blaming  herself  needlessly;  and 
yet  never  was  there  a  human  being  more  utterly  devoid  of 
vanity  and  selfishness;  she  was  simply  sacrificing  her 
maternal  duties  to  her  husband's  ambition;  of  her  own  ac- 
cord she  would  never  have  entered  a  ball-room :  I  am  sure 
of  that. 

I  longed  to  soothe  her,  and  yet  I  hardly  knew  what  to 
say.  Presently  she  shivered,  and  I  coveied  her  up  care- 
fully with  all  the  wraps  I  could  find,  and  then  knelt  down 
and  chafed  her  hands. 

"  You  can  not  sleep,  Mrs.  Morton;  I  am  so  sorry,  and 
yet  you  are  tired  out." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  sleep,"  she  answered.  "  I  dream 
badly  sometimes,  and  I  would  rather  lie  awake  and  listen 
to  my  boy's  breathing;  he  is  sleeping  nicely,  Merle." 

'*  Yes,  indeed;  there  is  no  need  for  anxiety  now,  and  1 
am  watching  him  carefully. ' ' 

"  Oh,  I  can  trust  you,"  with  a  faint  smile;  "  I  trusted 
you  from  the  first  moment.  But,  my  poor  girl,  I  am 
afraid  you  are  very  tired,  and  I  have  taken  your  bed  from 
you." 

"  I  would  rather  see  you  resting  there,  Mrs.  Morton/' 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  read  to  me  a  little?  My  hus- 
band often  reads  to  me  when  I  am  nervous  and  can  not 
sleep.  Anything  will  do,  the  simplest  child's  story;  it  is 
just  the  sound  of  the  voice  that  soothes  me.  What  is  that 
took?  Oh,  the  Bible!  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  read  thaft 


83  MERLE'S    CltUSADlE. 

enoogh,  I  hare  so  little  time  to  myself,  and  then  I  am 
often  too  tired. " 

"  It  is  just  the  book  for  tired  people/'  I  returned;  "  if 
you  want  a  story.  I  think  the  history  of  Ruth  is  ont  of 
the  most  touching:  she  has  always  seemed  to  me  one  of  the 
sweetest  characters  in  the  Bible;  it  is  a  perfect  idyl  of 
Oriental  life." 

"  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  read  it/'  she  returned,  apolo- 
getically, "you  shall  read  it  to  me  if  you  like."  And  1 
read  the  whole  book  throughout  to  her,  only  pausing  now 
and  then  to  look  at  Reggie. 

She  listened  to  it  without  interrupting  me  once,  but  I 
was  rejoiced  to  see  that  the  strained  expression  had  passed 
out  of  her  eyes;  they  looked  more  natural. 

"  You  are  right,  Merle/'  she  observed,  when  I  had  fin- 
ished, "it  is  very  beautiful  and  touching;  that  was  some- 
thing like  love,  *  Where  thou  goest  I  will  go/  "Now  you 
may  read  me  a  psalm,  if  you  are  not  tired.  I  like  your 
voice,  it  is  so  clear  and  quiet." 

I  read  to  her  until  she  bade  me  stop;  and  then  we  talked 
a  little.  I  told  her  an  incident  or  two  in  my  school-days 
about  our  nutting  expeditions  in  the  Luttrell  woods,  aud 
how  one  of  our  party  had  strayed  and  had  encountered  a 
gypsy  caravan.  1  was  just  in  the  middle  of  Rose  Mwvyn's 
recital,  when  I  heard  measured  breathing.  She  had  fallen 
asleep. 

I  saw  a  great  deal  of  Mrs.  Morton  during  the  next  few 
days.  She  was  very  unwell,  and  Dr.  Myrtle  insisted  on 
her  giving  up  all  her  engagements  for  a  week.  He  spoke 
Tery  decidedly,  and  Mr.  Morton  was  obliged  to  yield  to  hid 
opinion;  but  he  seemed  a  little  put  out. 

"  It  is  such  a  pity  all  those  people  should  be  disappoint- 
ed," he  observed,  in  a  grumbling  voice.  "  Mrs.  Granville 
had  quite  set  her  heart  on  having  us  both  on  Thursday.  I 
knew  how  it  would  be  when  you  fretted  yourself  ill  last 
night." 


MERLE'  83 

"1  could  not  help  it,"  she  pleaded.  **  Anderson  gave 
me  such  a  fright;  of  course,  he  thought  his  coming  for  me 
was  the  best,  but  when  I  saw  his  face  I  thought  I  should 
have  died  with  fear." 

"  Nonsense,  Violet;  you  ought  to  learn  more  self-con- 
trol; you  know  1  dislike  to  see  you  give  way  so  entirely 
Well,  we  must  abide  by  Doctor  Myrtle's  orders,  and  treat 
you  as  an  invalid. " 

"  But,  Alick,"  detaining  him  as  he  was  turning  away, 
not  in  the  best  of  humors,  as  I  could  see  from  the  night 
nursery,  "  I  can  write  for  you  all  the  same;  the  library  is 
quite  warm." 

44  How  absurd!"  was  the  reply.  "Do  you  think  I 
should  let  you  tire  yourself  for  me?  I  hope  I  am  not  quite 
so  selfish,  my  dear  child;"  for  she  was  still  holding  his 
arm  beseechingly.  "  You  must  really  let  me  go,  for  I  am 
dreadfully  busy;  rest  yourself  and  get  well,  that  is  all  I 
ask  of  you;"  and  he  kissed  her  and  left  the  room.  He 
was  not  often  hasty  with  her,  but  he  was  overworked  and 
irritable. 

We  made  the  most  of  that  week  between  us.  Reggie 
soon  recovered,  and  as  long  as  he  was  kept  in  a  certain 
temperature,  and  carefully  watched,  gave  us  no  further 
anxiety. 

His  mother  took  entire  charge  of  him  during  that  week; 
she  came  up  to  the  nursery  as  soon  as  she  was  dressed,  and 
stayed  with  us  until  Reggie  was  in  bed  and  Travers  camb 
to  summon  her.  She  t>\eu  took  her  meals  with  us.  Dr. 
Myrtle  thought  she  was  suffering  from  a  chill,  and  the 
warm  nursery  was  just  the  right  temperature  for  her.  It 
was  a  lovely  sight  to  watch  her  with  her  children.  I  think 
even  Mr.  Morton  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene 
when  he  came  up  one  afternoon  and  found  her  sitting  in 
her  easy-chair  with  Beggie  on  her  lap  and  Joyce  standing 
beside  her. 

"  You  seem  all  very  happy  together,"  he  said,  as  he 


84  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

took  up  hie  position  on  the  rug.  I  had  retreated  with  *\y 
work  into  the  other  room,  but  I  could  hear  her  answer  dis* 
tinctly. 

"  Oh,  Alick,  it  has  been  such  a  happy  week — a  real  holf- 
day;  it  was  worth  being  ill,  to  see  so  much  of  the  children; 
Reggie  has  such  pretty  ways;  I  knew  so  little  about  him 
before.  He  can  say  '  fada '  quite  plainly." 

"  Indeed,  my  boy,  then  suppose  you  say  your  netf 
words. ' ' 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  wishing  all  thv 
week?"  she  continued,  when  Reggie  had  finished  his 
vocabulary,  and  had  been  taken  into  his  father's  arms. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  sitting  down  beside  her,  "  unless  you 
wished  for  me  to  be  a  Cabinet  minister." 

"  Oh,  no,  Alick,"  and  there  was  pain  in  her  voice,  "  not 
unless  you  wish  it  very  much  too:  I  had  a  very  different 
desire  from  that." 

"  Perhaps  you  were  longing  for  a  house  in  the  country; 
well,  that  may  come  by  and  by." 

"  Wrong  again,  Alick.  1  was  wishing  that  you  were  a 
poor  man — not  a  very  poor  man,  I  should  not  like  that — 
and  that  we  lived  in  a  small  house  with  a  pretty  garden, 
where  there  would  be  a  lawn  for  the  children  to  play  on, 
and  plenty  of  flowers  for  them  to  pick/' 

"  Indeed;  this  is  a  strange  wish  of  yours,  you  discon- 
tented woman." 

"  No,  not  discontented^  but  very,  very  happy,  dear;  so 
you  need  not  frown  over  my  poor  little  wish;  every  one 
builds  castles,  only  mine  is  not  a  castle,  but  a  cottage. " 

"  1  should  not  care  to  live  in  your  cottage,  Violet;  I  am 
an  ambitious  man.  The  Cabinet  would  be  more  to  my 
taste." 

"Yes,  dear,"  with  a  sigh;  "it  was  only  make-believe 
nonsense;"  and  she  did  not  say  another  word  about  that 
fancy  of  hers,  but  began  questioning  him  about  last  night's 
debate.  That  was  just  her  way,  to  forget  herself  and  fol* 


8S 

fow  his  bent.  No  wonder  he  could  not  do  without  her, 
ind  was  restless  and  ill  at  ease  if  she  were  unavoidably 
absent. 

I  wonder  he  understood  in  the  least  what  she  meant  by 
wishing  him  to  be  poor.  No  doubt  her  innocent  fancy  had 
constructed  a  home  where  no  uncongenial  anxieties  or  am- 
bition should  sever  her  from  her  children,  where  she 
should  be  all  in  all  to  them  as  well  as  to  her  husband. 

I  dare  say  she  imagined  herself  no  longer  burdened  with 
wearisome  receptions,  but  sitting  working  in  the  shade  of 
the  little  porch  while  her  children  made  daisy  chains  on 
the  lawn  of  that  humble  abode.  The  mother  would  un- 
dress her  children,  and  hear  them  say  their  little  prayers. 
Hark!  was  not  that  a  click  of  the  gate?  Father  has  come 
home.  How  late  you  are,  Alick;  the  children  are  asleep; 
you  must  kiss  them  without  waking  them.  Hush,  what 
nonsense  she  is  dreaming!  Alick  would  be  in  the  Cabinet; 
people  were  prophesying  that  already.  She  must  take  up 
her  burden  again  and  follow  him  up  the  steep  hill  of  fame. 
What  if  her  woman's  heart  fainted  sometimes!  women 
must  do  their  work  in  life,  as  she  would  do  hers. 

The  next  day  the  mother's  place  was  empty  in  the 
nursery.  "Mrs.  Morton  was  with  her  husband  in  the 
library/'  Travers  told  us.  Later  on  we  heard  she  was 
driving.  Just  as  I  was  putting  Reggie,  half  asleep,  in  his 
cot,  she  came  up  to  wish  the  children  good-night,  but  she 
,'did  not  stay  with  us  ten  minutes.  I  remarked  that  ske 
looked  very  ill  and  exhausted. 

"  Oh,  I  am  only  a  little  tired,"  she  returned,  hurriedly,' 
"  I  have  been  paying  calls  all  the  afternoon,  trying  to 
make  up  for  my  idle  week,  and  the  talking  has  tired  me. 
Never  mind,  it  is  all  in  the  day's  work."  And  she  nod- 
ded to  m©  kindly  and  left  the  room* 


86 


CHAPTER  X. 

"l  TRUST  THEM   T6   YOU,    MERLE/' 

WITH  the  early  summer  came  a  new  anxiety;  Joyce  waft 
growing  very  fast,  and,  like  other  children  of  her  age, 
looked  thin  and  delicate.  She  lost  her  appetite,  grew  cap- 
tious and  irritable,  had  crying  fits  if  she  were  contradicted, 
and  tired  of  all  her  playthings.  It  was  hard  work  to 
amuse  her;  and  as  Peggie  was  rather  fretful  with  the  heat, 
I  found  my  charge  decidedly  onerous,  especially  as  it  was 
the  height  of  the  season,  and  Mrs.  Morton's  daily  visits  to 
the  nursery  barely  lasted  ten  minutes. 

Dr.  Myrtle  was  called  in,  and  recommended  change  for 
both  the  children.  There  was  a  want  of  tone  about  Joyce; 
she  was  growing  too  fast,  and  there  was  slight  irritability 
of  the  brain,  a  not  uncommon  thing,  he  remarked,  with 
nervous,  delicately  organized  children. 

He  recommended  sea  air  and  bathing.  She  must  be  out 
on  the  shore  all  day,  and  run  wild.  Fresh  air,  new  milk, 
and  country  diet  would  be  her  best  medicine;  and,  as  Dr. 
Myrtle  was  an  oracle  in  our  household,  Mr.  Morton  at  once 
decided  that  his  advice  must  be  fopowed. 

There  was  a  long,  anxious  deliberation  between  the 
parents,  and  the  next  morning  I  was  summoned  to  Mrs. 
Morton's  dressing-room.  I  found  her  lying  on  the  couch; 
the  blinds  were  lowered,  and  the  smelling  salts  were  in  her 
hand.  She  said  at  once  that  she  had  had  a  restless  night, 
and  had  one  of  her  bad  headaches.  I  thought  she  looked 
wretchedly  ill,  and,  for  the  first  time,  the  fear  crossed  me 
that  her  life  was  killing  her  by  inches.  Hers  was  not  a 
robust  constitution — and,  like  Joyce,  she  was  most  deli- 
cately organized.  Late  hours  and  excitement  are  fatal  to 
these  nervous  constitutions,  if  only  1  dared  hint  at  this  to 
.pr.  Myrtle—but  I  felt,  in  lav,  position,  it  would  be  an  aefc 


MERLE'S  CKUSADE.  87 

of  presumption.  She  would  not  let  me  speak  of  herself; 
At  my  first  word  of  sympathy  she  stopped  me. 

"  Never  mind  about  me,  1  am  used  to  these  headaches; 
sit  down  a  moment;  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  the  chil- 
dren. Doctor  Myrtle  has  made  us  very  anxious  about 
Joyce;  he  says  she  must  have  change  at  once." 

"  He  said  the  same  to  me,  Mrs.  Morton/' 

"  My  husband  and  I  have  talked  the  matter  over;  if  I 
could  only  go  with  you  and  the  children — but  no,  it  is  im- 
possible. How  could  I  leave  just  now,  when  our  ball  is 
coming  off  on  the  eighteenth,  and  we  have  two  dinners  as 
well?  Besides,  I  could  not  leave  my  husband;  he  is  far 
from  well.  This  late  session  tries  him  dreadfully.  I  have 
never  left  him  yet,  not  even  for  a  day." 

44  And  yet  you  require  the  change  as  much  as  the  chil- 
dren." 1  could  not  help  saying  this;  but  she  took  no 
notice  of  my  remark. 

"  We  have  decided  to  send  them  to  my  father's.  Do 
you  know  Netherton,  Merle?  It  is  a  pretty  village  about 
a  mile  from  Orton-on-Sea.  Netherton  is  by  the  sea,  and 
the  air  is  nearly  as  fine  as  Orton.  Marshlands,  that  is  my 
father's  place,  is  about  half  a  mile  from  the  shore." 

1  heard  this  with  some  trepidation.  In  my  secret  heart 
I  had  hoped  that  we  should  have  taken  lodgings  at  some 
watering  -  place,  and  1  thought,  with  Hannah's  help,  I 
should  have  got  on  nicely;  but  to  go  among  strangers!  I 
was  perfectly  unaware  of  Mr.  Morton's  horror  of  lodgings, 
and  it  would  have  seemed  absurd  to  him  to  take  a  house 
just  for  me  and  the  children. 

"  1  have  written  to  my  sister,  Merle,"  she  continued, 
"  to  make  all  arrangements.  My  father  never  interferes 
in  domestic  matters.  I  have  told  her  that  I  hold  you  re- 
sponsible for  my  children.,  tuul  that  you  will  have  the  sole 
charge  of  them.  I  laid  a  stress  on  this,  because  1  know 
my  sister's  ideas  of  management  differ  entirely  from 
I  can  trust  you  •••*  I  trort  myself.  Merle,  $u4  it  & 


88 

my  wish  to  secure  you  from  interference  of  any  kind. "  It 
was  nice  to  hear  this,  but  her  speech  made  me  a  little 
nervous:  she  evidently  dreaded  interference  for  me. 

"  Is  your  sister  younger  than  yourself?"  I  faltered. 

"  I  have  two  sisters/'  she  returned,  quickly;  "  Gay  is 
much  younger;  she  was  not  grown  up  when  I  married; 
my  eldest  sister,  Mrs.  Markham,  was  then  in  India.  Two 
years  ago  she  came  back  a  widow,  with  her  only  remaining 
child,  and  at  my  father's  request  remained  with  him  to 
manage  his  household.  Domestic  matters  were  not  either 
in  his  or  Gay's  line,  and  Mrs.  Markham  is  one  who  loves 
to  rule." 

I  confess  this  slight  sketch  of  Mrs.  Markham  did  not 
impress  me  in  her  favor.  I  conceived  the  idea  of  a  mascu- 
line, bustling  woman,  very  different  to  my  beloved  mis- 
tress. I  could  not  well  express  these  sentiments,  but  I 
think  Mrs.  Morton  must  have  read  them  in  my  face. 

" 1  am  going  to  be  very  frank  with  you,  Merle,"  she 
said,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "  and  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  repent  my  confidence.  I  know  my  sister  Adelaide's 
faults.  She  has  had  many  troubles  with  which  to  contend 
in  her  married  life,  and  they  have  made  her  a  little  hard. 
She  lost  two  dear  little  girls  in  India,  and  as  Rolf  is  her 
only  child,  she  spoils  him  dreadfully;  in  fact,  young  as  he 
is,  he  has  completely  mastered  her.  He  is  a  very  delicate, 
willful  child,  and  needs  firm  management;  in  spite  of  his 
faults  he  is  a  dear  little  fellow,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for 
Rolf." 

"  Will  he  be  with  us  in  the  nursery?"  I  asked,  anx- 
iously. 

"No,  indeed:  Rolf  is  always  with  his  mother  in  the 
drawing-room,  to  the  no  small  discomfort  of  his  mother'^: 
visitors.  Sometimes  he  is  with  her  maid  Judson,  but  thau 
is  only  when  even  Mrs.  Markham  finds  him  unbearable. 
A  spoiled  child  is  greatly  to  be  pitied,  Merle;  he  has  his 
own  way  nine  times  onkflt-tan.  and  en  the  tenth  he  meets 


CHUSAITE.  9 

with  undesirable  severity. ,  Adelaide  either  will  not  pirn- 
ish  him  at  all,  or  punishes  him  too  severely.  Children 
suffer  as  much  from  their  parents7  temper  as  from  over- 
indulgence. " 

"  I  am  afraid  Rolfs  example  will  be  bad  for  Joyce." 

"  That  is  my  fear/'  she  replied,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  wish 
fche  children  could  be  kept  apart,  but  Rolf  will  have  his 
•wn  way  in  that.  There  is  one  thing  of  which  1  must  warn 
you,  Merle.  Mrs.  Markham  may  be  disposed  to  interfere 
in  your  department;  remember,  you  are  responsible  to  me, 
and  not  to  her.  I  look  to  you  to  follow  my  rules  and 
wishes  with  regard  to  my  children. " 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Morton,"  I  burst  out,  "  you  are  putting  me 
in  a  very  difficult  position.  If  any  unpleasantness  should 
arise,  1  can  not  refer  to  you.  How  am  I  to  help  it  if  Mrs. 
Markham  interferes  with  the  ohildren?" 

"  You  must  be  firm,  Merle;  you  must  act  in  any  diffi- 
culty in  the  way  you  think  will  please  me.  Be  true  to  me, 
and  you  may  be  sure  I  shall  listen  to  no  idle  complaints  of 
you.  I  wish  1  had  not  to  say  all  this;  it  is  very  painful  to 
hint  this  of  a  sister,  but  Mrs.  Markham  is  not  always  ju- 
dioious  with  regard  to  children.4" 

"  Will  it  be  good  for  them  to  go  to  Netherton  under 
these  circumstances?" 

"  There  is  nowhere  else  they  can  go,"  she  returned, 
rather  sadly;  "  my  husband  has  such  a  horror  of  lodgings, 
and  he  will  not  take  a  house  for  us  this  year — he  thinks  it 
AH  unnecessary  expense,  as  later  on  we  are  going  to  Scot- 
land, that  he  may  have  some  shooting.  All  the  doctors 
speak  so  well  of  Netherton;  the  air  is  very  fine  and  brac- 
ing, and  my  father's  garden  will-  be  a  paradise  to  the  chil' 
dren." 

We  were  interrupted  here  by  Mr.  Morton. 

"  Oh,  are  you  there,  Miss  Fenton?"  he  said,  pleasantly 
(he  so  often  called  me  Miss  Fenton  now);  *c  I  was  just 
wanting  you.  Violet,  your  sister  has  telegraphed  as  yoj 


90  j  MERLE'S  cm  SADT. 

wished,  and  the  rooms  will  be  quite  ready  for  the  children 
to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow!"  I  gasped. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned,  in  his  quick,  decided  voice;  "you 
and  Hannah  will  have  plenty  of  work  to-day.  You  are. 
looking  pale,  Miss  Fen  ton ;  sea  air  will  be  good  for  you  as 
well  as  Joyce.  I  do  not  like  people  to  grow  pale  in  my 
service. " 

"  1  have  been  telling  Merle,"  observed  his  wife,  anx- 
iously, "  that  she  is  to  have  the  sole  responsibility  of  our 
children.  Adelaide  must  not  interfere;  must  she,  Alick?" 

4<  Of  course  not,"  with  a  frown.  "  My  dear  Violet,  w<* 
all  know  wliat  your  sister's  management  means;  Rolf  is  a 
fine  little  fellow,  but  she  is  utterly  ruining  him.  Remem- 
ber, Miss  Fenton,  no  Unwholesome  sweets  and  delicacies 
for  the  children;  you  know  our  rules.  She  may  stuff  her 
own  boy  if  she  likes,  but  not  my  children;"  and  with  this 
he  dismissed  me,  and  sat  down  beside  his  wife  with  some 
open  letters  in  his  hand. 

I  returned  to  the  nursery  with  a  heavy  heart.  How  lit- 
tle we  know  as  we  open  our  eyes  on  the  new  day,  what  that 
day's  work  may  bring  us!  I  think  one's  waking  prayer 
should  be,  "  Lead  me  in  a  plain  path  because  of  mine 
enemies!" 

I  was  utterly  cast  down  and  disheartened  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  my  mistress.  The  responsibility  terrified  me.  I 
should  be  at  the  tender  mercies  of  strangers,  who  would 
not  recognize  my  position.  Ah!  I  had  got  to  the  Hill 
Difficulty  at  last;  and  yet  surely  the  confidence  reposed  in 
me  ought  to  have  made  me  glad.  "  I  trust  you  as  my- 
self. "  Were  not  those  sweet  words  to  hear  from  my  mis- 
tress's lips?  Well,  1  was  only  a  girl.  Human  nature,  and 
especially  girl  nature,  is  subject  to  hot  and  cold  fits.  At 
one  moment  we  are  star-gazing,  and  the  majesty  of  the 
universe,  with  its  undeviating  laws,  seems  to  lift  us  out  of 
ourselves  with  admiration  and  wonder;  and  the  next  hour 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  91 

we  arc  groveling  in  the  dust,  and  the  grasshopper  is  a  bur- 
den, and  we  see  nothing  save  the  hard  stones  of  the  high- 
way and  the  walls  that  shut  us  in  on  every  side.  "  Lead 
us  in  a  plain  path!"  Oh,  that  is  just  what  we  want;  a 
Divine  Hand  to  lift  us  up  and  clear  the  dust  from  our 
eyes,  and  to  lead  us  on  as  little  children  are  led. 

These  salutary  thoughts  checked  my  nervous  fears  and 
restored  calmness.  1  remembered  a  passage  that  Aunt 
Agatha  had  once  read  to  me — a  quotation  from  a  favorite 
book  of  hers;  I  had  copied  it  out  for  myself: 

"  Do  as  the  little  children  do — little  children,  who  with 
one  hand  hold  fast  by  their  father,  and  with  the  other 
gatlier  strawberries  or  blackberries  along  the  hedges.  Do 
you,  while  gathering  and  managing  the  goods  of  this  world 
with  one  hand,  with  the  other  always  hold  fast  the  hand 
of  your  Heavenly  Father,  turning  to  Him  from  time  to 
time,  to  see  if  your  actions  or  occupations  are  pleasing  to 
Him;  but  take  care,  above  all  things,  that  you  never  let 
go  His  hand,  thinking  to  gather  more,  for,  should  He  let 
you  go,  you  will  not  be  able  to  take  another  step  without 
falling." 

Just  then  Hannah  came  to  me  for  the  day's  orders,  and 
I  told  her  as  briefly  as  possible  of  the  plans  for  the  mor- 
row. To  my  astonishment,  directly  I  mentioned  Nether- 
ton,  she  turned  very  red,  and  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  Netherton — we  are  to  go  to  Netherton — Squire  Cheri- 
ton's  place!  Why,  miss,  it  is  not  more  than  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  there  to  Uorlcote  and  Wheeler's  Farm." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  farm  where  your  father  and  your  sis- 
ter Molly  live?"  1  returned,  quite  taken  aback  at  this,  for 
the  girl's  eyes  were  sparkling,  and  she  seemed  almost  be- 
side herself  with  joy.  "  Truly  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows 
no  one  any  good. " 

4i  Yes,  indeed,  miss,  you  have  told  me  a  piece  of  good 
news.     I  was  just  thinking  of  asking  mistress  for  a  week's 
#  only  Master  -Kexgie  seemid  so  fretful  and  Mis» 


98  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

Joyce  so  weakly,  that  I  hardly  knew  how  I  could  be  spared 
without  putting  too  much  work  upon  you;  but  now  I  shall 
be  near  them  all  for  a  month  or  more.  Molly  had  been 
writing  to  me  the  other  day  to  tell  me  that  they  were  long- 
ing for  a  sight  of  me." 

"  I  am  very  glad  for  your  sake,  Hannah,  that  we  shall 
be  so  near  your  old  home;  but  now  we  must  see  to  the 
children's  things,  and  1  must  get  Rhoda  to  send  a  note  to 
the  laundress. " 

I  had  put  a  stop  to  the  conversation  purposely,  for  I 
wanted  to  know  my  mistress's  opinion  before  I  encouraged 
Hannah  in  speaking  about  her  own  people.  How  did  I 
know  what  Mrs.  Morton  would  wish?  I  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  to  her  when  she  came  up  to  the  nursery 
in  the  course  of  the  evening.  Hannah  was  still  packing, 
and  I  was  collecting  some  of  the  children's  toys.  Mrs. 
Morton  listened  to  me  with  great  attention;  I  thought  she 
seemed  interested. 

"Of  course  1  know  Wheeler's  Farm,"  she  replied  at 
once;  "  Michael  Sowerby,  Hannah's  father,  is  a  ^very  re- 
spectable man;  indeed,  they  are  all  most  respectable,  and 
I  know  Mrs.  Garnett  thinks  highly  of  them.  I  shall  have 
no  objection  to  my  children  visiting  the  farm,  if  you  think 
proper  to  take  them,  Merle;  but  of  course  they  will  go  no- 
where without  you.  If  you  can  spare  Hannah  for  a  day 
now  and  then,  I  should  be  glad  for  her  to  have  the  holi- 
day, for  she  is  a  good  girl,  and  has  always  done  her  duty." 

" 1  will  willingly  spare  her,"  was  my  answer,  for  Han- 
nah's sweet  temper  and  obliging  ways  had  made  me  her 
friend.  "  I  was  only  anxious  to  know  your  wishes  on  this 
point,  in  case  my  conduct  or  Hannah's  should  be  ques- 
tioned. " 

"You  are  nervous  about  going  to  Netherton,  Merit," 
she  returned,  at  once,  looking  at  me  more  keenly  than 
<k  You  are  quit*  pale  this  evening.  Put  down 


MERLE'S    CRUSADE.  93 

those  toys;  Hannah  can  pack  them,  with  Rnoda's  help;  I 
will  not  have  you  tire  yourself  any  more  to-night." 

"I  am  not  tired,"  I  faltered;  but  the  foolish  bears 
rushed  to  my  eyes.  Did  she  have  an  idea,  I  wonder,  how 
hard  I  felt  it  would  be  to  leave  her  the  next  day?  As  the 
thought  passed  through  my  mind  she  took  the  chair  be- 
side me. 

"  The  carriage  has  not  come  yet;  Anderson  will  let  me 
know  when  my  husband  is  ready  for  me;  we  shall  have 
time  for  a  talk.  You  are  a  little  down-hearted  to-night, 
Merle;  you  are  dreading  leaving  us  to-morrow. " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  leave  you,"  I  returned;  and  now  1  could 
not  keep  the  tears  back. 

"  I  shall  miss  you,  too/'  she  replied,  kindly;  "  I  am 
getting  to  know  you  so  well,  Merle.  I  think  we  under- 
stand each  other,  and  then  I  am  so  grateful  to  you  for  lov- 
ing my  children;  no  one  has  ever  been  so  good  to  them  be- 
fore," 

' c  I  am  only  doing  my  duty  to  them  and  you. " 
"Perhaps  so;  but  then  how  few  do  their  duty!  How 
few  try  t6  act  up  to  so  high  a  standard!  I  am  dull  myself 
to-night,  Merle.  No  one  knows  how  1  feel  parting  with 
my  children;  I  try  r^ot  to  indulge  in  nervous  fancies,  but  I 
can  not  feel  happy  and  at  rest  when  they  are  away  from 
me." 

"It  is  very  hard  for  you,"  was  my  answer  to  this. 

"It  is  not  quite  so  hard  this  time,"  she  returned, 
hastily;  "  I  feel  they  will  be  safe  with  you,  Merle,  that 
you  will  watch  over  them  as  though  they  were  your  own. 
I  know  you  will  justify  my  trust." 

'  You  may  be  assured  that  I  will  do  my  beBt  for 
them." 

"  I  know  that,"  returned  my  mistress,  gently.  "  You 
will  write  to  me,  will  you  not,  and  give  me  full  particular* 
about  my  darlings?  I  think  you  will  like  Marshlands;  mj 


$4  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

sister  Gay  is  very  bright  and  winning,  and  my  father  if 
always  kind." 

"  Mrs.  Markham?"  I  stammered. 

"  Oh,  my  sister  Adelaide;  she  will  be  too  much  occupied 
with  her  own  boy  arid  her  own  affairs  to  trouble  you  much. 
If  you  are  in  any  difficulty,  write  to  me  and  I  will  help 
you.  Now  I  must  say  good-night.  Have  I  done  you  anj 
good,  Merle?  Have  the  fears  lessened?" 

"  You  always  do  me  good,"  I  answered,  gratefully,  as 
ghe  put  out  her  slim  hand  to  me;  and,  indeed,  her  few 
sympathizing  words  had  lifted  a  little  of  the  weight 
When  she  bad  left  the  nursery  I  sat  down  and  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Aunt  Agatha,  bidding  her  good-bye,,  and  speaking 
cheerfully  of  our  intended  flitting.  When  the  next  day 
came  I  woke  far  more  cheerful.  The  bright  sunshine, 
Joyce's  excitement,  and  Hannah's  happy  looks  stimulated 
me  to  courage.  There  was  little  time  for  thought,  for 
there  was  still  much  to  be  done  before  the  carriage  came 
round  for  us.  Mrs.  Morton  accompanied  us  to  the  sta- 
tion, and  did  not  quit  the  platform  until  our  train  moved 
off. 

"  Remember,  Merle,  I  trust  them  to  you,"  were  her  last 
words  before  we  left  her  there  alone  in  the  summer  sun- 
shine. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MARSHLANDS. 

WE  had  started  by  an  early  train,  and  arrived  at  Nether- 
ton  soon  after  four.  I  knew  we  were  to  be  met  at  the  sta- 
tion, and  was  not  at  all  surprised  when  a  fresh-colored, 
white-haired  old  gentleman  brandished  his  stick  as  a  token 
of  welcome  to  Joyce.  I  was  quite  sure  that  it  was  Squire 
Cheriton  before  Joyce  clapped  her  hands  and  exclaimed, 
'-'  There's  gran." 

"  Ualloo,  little  one/'  he  said,  cheerily,  a§  she  raa  up  to 


hiin  with  a  jvyous  fac«;  *4  so  you  have  not  forotten  grand- 
father? Bless  me,  you  are  not  a  bit  like  Vi;  you  have 
taken  after  Alick.  So  this  is  the  boy,  nurse?  Dear  me! 
which  is  the  nurse?"  looking  at  me  with  rather  a  puzzled 
countenance. 

"  I  am  the  nurse,  sir,"  1  returned,  quietly;  "and  thi? 
is  Hannah." 

"  Hannafc  Sowerby,  of  course.  Bless  me,  I  never  for- 
get a  face — never;  I  knew  yours  directly,"  as  Hannah 
dropped  a  countrified  courtesy  to  the  squire.  "  I  saw 
Michael  the  other  day;  he  was  looking  hale  and  hearty — 
hale  and  hearty;  4  That  comes  of  hard  work  and  temperate 
living,  Michael,'  I  said — oh,  we  are  both  of  an  age,  old 
Michael  and  I,  and  1  am  hale  and  hearty,  too.  So  this  is 
lay  grandson;  he  is  a  fine  fellow;  takes  after  Vi,  I  should 
say.  Come  along,  come  alougv  there 's  auntie  waiting  for 
us;"  and,  talking  half  to  us  and  half  to  himself,  Mr. 
Oheriton  led  us  through  the  station.  On  the  way,  how- 
ever, we  were  stopped  twice;  first,  the  station-master  was 
interviewed  and  the  children  introduced  to  him. 

"  My  grandchildren,  Drake,"  observed  the  squire, 
proudly,  twirling  his  gold-headed  stick  as  he  spoke-  then 
&  burly  farmer  jostled  against  the  squire,  and  the  two  com- 
menced observations  on  the  weather. 

''.Fine  weather  for  tha  crops,  Roberts;  the  oats  look 
lively.  These  are  my  grandchildren;  tine  boy  that/' 

"  Little  girl  looks  rather  peaky,  squire;  wants  a  bit  of 
fattening." 

"Eh,  what?  We'll  fatten  Jier,  won't  we,  Joyce?" 
pinching  the  child's  thin  cheek.  tc  Takes  after  her  fa- 
ther, Alick  Morton.  YQU  can't  find  fault  with  my  grand- 
son, Roberts,  I  hope;  never  seen  a  finer  child  in  my  life." 

"  Father,  father,"  exclaimed  a  fresh  young  voice, 
"  what  are  you  doing  with  those  children?  Methuselah  is 
fretting  terribly  to  be  off.  Do  be  quick,  pray, " 

"  I  awpo.  coming.  Gay.    JCow,  tuetu  all  of  you,  more  pa* 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

Roberts. "  And  Mr.  Cheriton  drove  ns  ewt  befote 
'  iim.  An  open  barouche  was  waiting  at  the  door,  and  a 
young  lady  was  on  the  box,  trying  to  hold  in  a  pair  of 
thorough-breds.  When  she  saw  us  she  at  once  handed  the 
reins  to  her  father,  and  jumped  lightly  to  the  ground. 

"Kiss  me,  you  darlings/'  she  said,  coaxingly;  "don't 
you  know  me  yet?"  as  Joyce  hung  back  a  little  shyly. 
"  I  am  Gay,  the  little  auntie,  as  you  used  to  call  me.  How 
do  you  do,  Miss  Fenton? — you  see  I  know  your  name. 
Hannah,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again.  There  is  plenty  of 
room  for  us  all;  the  boxes  are  going  by  omnibus.  Now, 
father,  we  are  all  ready ;"  and  in  another  moment  Me- 
thuselah and  his  mate  were  on  their  homeward  way. 

Miss  Oheriton  chattered  all  the  time.  She  was  a  pretty, 
dark-eyed  girl,  rather  piquante  in  style,  but  not  equal  to 
her  beautiful  sister,  though  I  caught  an  expression  that 
reminded  me  now  and  then  of  my  mistress.  She  struck 
me  as  very  fresh  and  unconventional,  and  she  had  a  bright, 
chirpy  voice  and  manner  that  must  have  been  very  at- 
tractive to  children.  Jo^ce  made  friends  with  her  at  once, 
and  even  Reggie  wanted  to  go  to  her,  and  received  her 
caresses  and  compliments  with  unusual  condescension. 

44  How  wonderfully  he  has  improved,  nurse — Miss  Fen- 
ton,  I  mean.  My  sister  told  me  he  was  a  lovely  boy,  and 
so  he  is.  Why,  Rolf  will  look  quite  plain  beside  him. 
What  nicely  behavedjchildren  they  seem!  Poor  Rolf  is 
such  a  plague  to  us  all." 

"  Don't  you  love  Rolf,  auntie?"  asked  Joyce,  fixing  her 
dark  eyes  on  Miss  Cheriton's  face. 

The  young  aunt  looked  rather  perplexed  at  this  ques- 
tion. 

"  When  Rolf  is  good  1  love  him,  but- not  when  he  teases 
Fidgets,  or  frightens  my  canaries;  I  do  not  love  him  a  bit 
then.  I  am  always  longing  to  box  his  ears,  only  his  moth- 
er would  be  so  angry  with  me.  Father  dear,  do  mak« 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  97 

Methuselah  fo  a  kittle  slower,  Mr.  Hawtry  is  trying  to 
overtake  us." 

"  Halloo,  Roger  I"  exclaimed  the  squire,  in  his  hearty 
voice,  "  you  did  not  think  to  pass  Methuselah,  did  you,  on 
that  hack  of  yours?"  And  the  next  moment  a  gentleman, 
well  mounted  on  a  dark  bay  mare,  rode  up,  and  entered 
into  conversation  with  Miss  Cheriton.  He  threw  a  search- 
ing glance  round  the  carriage  as  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  then 
laid  his  hand  on  the  carriage  door. 

"  Good- afternoon,  squire;  Methuselah  seems  a  trifle 
fresh.  How  is  it  you  are  not  driving  as  usual,  Miss  Chori- 
ton?  Better  employed,  I  suppose,"  with  a  look  at  Reggie. 
"  So  these  are  Alick  Morton's  children,  are  they?  The 
little  girl  looks  delicate.  You  must  bring  them  out  to  my 
place;  Mrs.  Cornish  will  give  them  plenty  of  new  milk. 
By  the  bye,  isn't  that  Hannah  Sowerby?"  And  as  «he 
blushed  and  looked  pleased,  "  Why,  I  was  over  at 
Wheeler's  Farm  this  morning,  and  your  sister  Molly  was 
talking  about  you.  I  wanted  Matthew  to  come  up  to  the 
Red  Farm  for  a  job — he  is  a  handy  fellow,  that  brother  of 
yours— so,  as  I  was  waiting,  I  had  a  chat  with  Molly." 

1  looked  across  at  Hannah,  and  saw  how  this  kindly 
mention  of  her  home  pleased  her.  It  was  good-natured  of 
Mr.  Hawtry  to  single  her  out,  and  this  little  act  of  Chris- 
tian charity  prepossessed  me  hi  his  favor.  He  was  not  very 
young — a  little  over  thirty,  I  should  have  judged — and  had 
a  strong,  sensible  face,  "  not  a  mask  without  any  meaning 
to  it,"  as  Aunt  Agatha  sometimes  said,  but  a  face  that 
aeemed  to  reveal  a  sensible,  downright  character. 

I  saw  Mr.  Hawtry  look  in  my  direction  once  a  little 
doubtfully.  I  dare  say,  being  an  old  friend  of  the  family, 
he  thought  it  rather  odd  that  Miss  Cheriton  did  not  intro- 
duce him  to  me,  but  Joyce  soon  enlightened  him. 

"  Oh,  nurse!  do  look  at  those  pretty  flowers/'  she  called 
«wt,  puling  my  gown  to  enforce  my  attention. 

I  see  them,  dear/'  I  answered,  quietly;  and 


98  UTERLE'S  ORUSADB. 

Reggie  became  restless  and  struggled  to  get  to  me,  so  1 
took  him  in  my  arms,  and  at  that  moment  the  carriage 
turned  in  at  some  lodge  gates. 

I  had  not  been  able  to  judge  much  of  the  place.  Mistf 
Cheriton's  chatter  had  engrossed  me.  1  knew  we  had 
driven  very  fast  through  a  pretty  village,  and  that  we  had 
turned  off  down  a  country  road,  and  that  was  all.  -  Once  1 
fancied  I  had  caught  a  blue  shimmer  in  the  distance  that 
must  have  been  the  sea,  but  after  we  had  turned  into  the 
lodge  gates  I  took  no  more  notice  of  Miss  Cheriton  and  her 
companion.  I  was  far  too  curious  to  see  Marshlands,  the 
home  where  my  beloved  mistress  had  passed  her  childhood. 

A  short  avenue  brought  us  to  the  graveled  sweep  before 
the  hall  door.  A  large  sunny  garden  with  terraces  seemed 
to  stretch  into  a  park-like  meadow;  in  reality  it  waa 
divided  by  a  wire  fence,  to  keep  in  the  sheep  that  were 
feeding  between  the  trees.  An  old  white  pony  was  looking 
across  the  fence,  attracted  by  the  sound  of  our  horses,  a 
little  black-and-tan  terrier  flew  out  on  the  steps  barking, 
and  a  peacock,  who  was  spreading  his  tail  on  the  sun-dial, 
retreated  in  much  disgust,  sweeping  his  train  of  feathers 
behind  him. 

"  Jacko  hates  Fidgets,"  observed  Miss  Cheriton,  as  the 
children  clapped  their  hands  at  the  gorgeous  bird,  and 
then  Mr.  Hawtry  dismounted  and  lifted  Joyce  out  of  the 
carriage. 

I  stood  for  a  moment  with  Reggie  in  my  arms,  admiring 
the  old  red-brick  house,  with  its  ivy-covered  gables,  before 
we  entered  the  wide,  dark  hall,  and  it  was  then  that  I  dis- 
tinctly heard  Mr.  Hawtry  say: 

"  Who  is  that  young  lady?" 

"  Do  you  mean  the  children's  nurse,  Miss  Fenton?** 
observed  Miss  Cheriton,  carelessly.  "  Oh,  yes;  Vi  says  she 
is  quite  a  lady,  and  .very  nice,  but—  Here  I  passed  on 
quickly  and  lost  the  rest,  only  my  foolish  cheeks  caught 
fire,  Mprle,  Merle,  be  wudent;  remember  tb»  Yftlley  of 


MERLE'S    CfcUSADE.  $* 

Etimiliation.     What  doea  it  matter,  my  girl,  what  the 
world  thinks?    Eve  was  a  dairy-maid  in  Eden. 

An  old  gray-headed  butler  had  hurried  out  to  meet  us. 
Miss  Cheriton,  who  had  joined  us  after  a  minute  or  two, 
questioned  him  at  once. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Markham  still  out,  Benson?" 

Yes,  ma'am,  and  Master  Eolf  and  Judson  are  with  her 
but  I  have  taken  tea  into  the  morning-room. " 

"  Very  well,  Benson,  I  will  be  down  presently.  Now, 
Miss  Fenton,  let  me  show  you  your  quarters;"  aild  she 
preceded  us  up  the  dark  old  staircase,  and  down  a  long 
narrow  lobby,  lighted  with  small  lozehged-pane  windows, 
and  threw  open  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  "  This 
is  the  old  day  nursery,  and  there  are  two  bedrooms  com- 
municating with  it.  Susan  will  bring  up  the  children's  tea 
directly.  Will  you  ring  for  anything  you  want?  1  am 
sorry  I  can  not  wait  now,  but  I  must  pour  out  tea  for  my 
father  and  Mr.  Hawtry.  I  will  come  up  again  by  and 
by;"  and  she  nodded  pleasantly  and  ran  away. 

1  looked  round  the  nursery  approvingly.  It  was  such  a 
charming,  old-fashioned  room,  rather  low,  perhaps,  but 
with  brown  wainscoting,  and  a  dark  paneled  ceiling,  and 
wooden  window-seats,  and  though  the  windows  were  small, 
they  were  deliriously  quaint,  and  they  looked  out  on  the 
grass  terrace  and  the  sun-dial,  and  there  was  the  white 
pony  grazing  under  the  elms,  and  such  a  pretty  pee£  of 
the  park,  as  I  supposed  they  called  it.  An  old  black-faced 
sheep  came  m  sight;  I  called  Joyce  to  look  at  it,  and  even 
Reggie  clapped  his  dear  little  hands,  and  cried  out,  "  Ba~ 
ba,  ba— ba." 

The  bedrooms  were  just  as  cozy  and  old-fashioned  as  the 
nursery.  The  bed  where  Joyce  and  I  were  to  sleep  was 
hung  with  curious  blue  chintz,  and  there  was  an  oak  ward- 
robe that  looked  black  with  age,  and  curious  prints  in  little 
black  frames  hung  round  the  walls.  Reggie's  cot  had 
chintz  hangings  too.  The  afternoon  sunshine  w'as  flooding 


100 

the  room*  as  I  stood  at  the  window  a  moment     I  called  ie 

Hannah  to  admire  the  view.  We  were  at  the  back  of  th« 
house;  there  was  a  kitchen  garden  and  fruit-trees,  then 
came  a  deep,  narrow  lane  and  corn-field,  and  beyond  lay 
the  sea;  I  oould  even  catch  sight  of  a  white  sail  very  near 
the  shore. 

1  never  saw  Hannah  so  excited  as  she  was  when  she 
caught  sight  of  that  lane.  She  thrust  her  head  out  of  the 
window,  almpst  overbalancing  herself  in  her  eagerness. 

"  Why,  miss/'  she  exclaimed,  "  there  is  Cherry  Tree 
Lane,  and  if  we  could  only  see  round  the  corner — but 
those  pear-trees  shut  it  out — we  should  see  Wheeler's 
Farm.  Isn't  it  like  being  at  home?"  her  voice  trembling 
with  emotion.  "Directly  I  had  a  taste  of  the  salt  air, 
and  a  glimpse  of  Squire  Hawtry's  corn-fields,  1  felt  almost 
beside  myself."  And  indeed  the  girl's  honest  joy  was 
good  to  witness,  and  again,  as  1  thought  of  those  sisters 
crowding  out  the  attics  of  Wheeler's  Farm,  I  could  have 
found  it  in  my  heart  to  envy  Hannah. 

When  I  had  taken  off  the  children's  things  we  went  back 
to  the  day  nursery.  A  freckle-faced  country  girl  was  COY- 
eri/ig  the  round  table  with  all'  sorts  of  dainties — new-laid 
eggs,  fruit,  jam,  and  honey;  there  seemed  no  end  to  the 
go<Ml  things.  She  nodded  to  Hannah  in  a  friendly  way, 
and  asked  after  her  health  in  broad  Sussex  dialect. 

*'  Do  you  know  Susan?"  I  observed,  in  some  surprise, 
as  t  poured  out  some  milk  for  the  thirsty  children. 

*'  She  is  a  neighbor's  daughter,"  replied  Hannah,  as  sh« 
waited  on  us.  "  Susan  was  never  much  to  my  taste,  but 
we  learned  our  samplers  together.  The  Mullinses  are  not 
our  sort,"  she  continued,  with  manifest  pride.  "  Joseph 
Mullius  is  the  village  cobbler,  but  he  is  none  too  steady, 
and  father  and  Molly  can't  abide  him. " 

As  soon  as  the  children  had  finished  their  tea,  1  took 
them  to  the  window,  where  they  found  plenty  to  amu§e 
them.  The  white  pony  was  still  cropping  the  grass;  here 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  101 

and  there  was  a  nibbling  sheep;  the  rooks  were  cawing 
about  their  nests  in  the  elm-trees;  the  peacock  was  strut- 
ting along  the  terrace,  accompanied  by  his  mate;  a  pair  of 
golden-crested  pheasants  followed  them. 

Presently  the  bay  mare  was  brought  round,  by  a  groom, 
and  Mr.  Hawtry  came  out  on  the  terrace;  and,  stood  talk- 
ing to  Mr.  Cheriton  before  he  mounted.  - 

4  *  Why  did  you  call  him  Squire  Ha wtry,*  Hal? D  ah ?>r'.| 
observed,  curiously,  as  he  rode  away  down  the  avenue. 

"  He  is  mostly  called  by  that  name,"  returned  Hannah. 
"  He  is  a  gentleman  farmer,  and  lives  at  the  Red  Farm, 
down  Dorlcote  way.  His  mother  and  sister  used  to  live 
with  him,  but  his  mother  died  two  years  ago,  and  Miss 
Agnes  did  not  long  survive  her.  She  was  a  sweet  creature, 
and  very  handsome,  but  she  had  been  a  sad  invalid  the  last 
few  years  of  her  life. " 

"  Poor  Mr.  Hawtry!  and  he  is  all  alone?" 

"  Quite  alone,  except  for  his  good  old  housekeeper,  Mrs. 
Cornish;  she  takes  good  care  of  Mr.  Roger,  as  she  calls 
him.  Folks  say,"  continued  Hannah,  somewhat  hesitat- 
ing, *  Squire  Hawtry  has  had  enough  of  loneliness  and 
nursing  Miss  Agnes,  and  that  he  is  looking  out  for  a  wife; 
he  and  Miss  Gay  are  firm  friends,  and—" 

"  I  think  Reggie  is  getting  sleepy,"  I  observed,  hastily, 
for  Joyce  was  listening  with  all  her  might,  and  the  old 
proverb  is  true  in  saying  "  little  pitchers  have  long  ears;" 
besides  which,  this  was  gossiping  about  other  people's  affairs, 
and  Hannah  knew  I  never  countenanced  gossip;  it  always 
seemed  to  me  such  a  mean  and  undignified  thing  to  chat- 
ter about  those  who  were  inmates  of  the  house  that  shel- 
tered us.  We  had  partaken  of  their  bread  and  salt,  and  so 
they  ought  to  have  been  sacred  to  us.  How  little  often- 
times the  world  regards  the  word  "  honor!"  but  Nobless* 
oUige  is  a  safe  motto. 

Hannah  took  the  hint  with  her  usaal  good-nature,  and 
went  off  for  the  bath  water.  The  next  moment  there  WMF 


1Q3  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

a  alight  peremptory  tap  at  the  nursery  door,  and  before  I 
could  answer  a  tall,  eleganWooking  woman,  dressed  ia 
black,  entered  the  room.  1  rose  at  once  in  some  little 
trepidation;  of  course  it  was  Mrs.  Markham. 

"Good-evening,  ntfrse,"  she  said,  in  rather  a  thin,  highly 
pitched  voice:  '"*I4hope  you  find  yourself  comfortable, 
and  that  the  -children  are  not  tired  with  the  journey/' 
/riieiii  without'  waiting  'for  an  answer,  she  seated  herself 
languidly,  and  called  to  Joyce,  "  Come  to  me,  my  dear;  I 
am  your  aunt  Adelaide;  good  children  always  come  when 
they  are  called." 

I  gave  Joyce  a  slight  push,  for  she  was  hanging  back  in 
a  most  unaccountable  way,  and  yet  she  was  by  no  means  a 
shy  child,  and  would  be  friendly  even  with  strangers,  if 
she  liked  their  appearance.  I  thought  Mrs.  Markham 
looked  a  little  annoyed  at  her  hesitation,  but  she  controlled 
herself,  and  tried  coaxing. 

"  What  would  your  mamma  say,  if  you  refused  to  kiss 
poor  Aunt  Adelaide?  Come,  that  is  better/'  as  Joyce  ad- 
vanced timidly.  "  Why,  what  a  thin,  sickly  looking  child 
it  is!"  regarding  the  sweet  little  face  before  her  rather 
critically;  "  1  should  hardly  have  thought/'  speaking  half 
to  herself,  "that  Violet  would  have  had  such  a  plain 
child/' 

J  was  indignant  at  this;  for  every  one  thought  Joyce  had 
a  lovely  little  face,  though  'it  was  rather  too  thin  and 
gra>fe.  "  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Markham,"  1  observed,  has- 
tily, "  but  Joyce  is  a  very  forward  child,  and  understands 
all  that  is  said  before  her;"  for  it  was  hard  that  our  pefc 
should  meet  with  such  a  cold  reception. 

Mrs.  Markham  regarded  me  with  a  supercilious  stare; 
she  evidently  thought  I  was  taking  a  liberty  with  her  in 
venturing  to  remonstrate,  but  1  took  no  notice,  and  pru- 
dently restrained  myself. 

J  felt,  erea  at  that  first  moment,  an  unaccountable  dis- 
to  Mrs.  Markham.  Most  people  would  have  pro* 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  103 

nouneed  her  very  handsome,  in  spite  of  her  sallow  com- 
plexion and  thin  lips,  but  a  certain  hardness  in  her 
expression  repelled  me,  as  it  repelled  Joyce.  Her  dark 
eyos  regarded  one  so  coldly;  there  was  such  hauteur  and 
indifference  in  her  manners;  and  then  the  metallic  harsh- 
ness of  her  voice!  "  How  could  she  be  Mrs.  Morton's  sis- 
ter?'^ 1  thought,  as  I  recalled  the  sweet  graciousnas,  the. 
yielding  softness,  that  made  my  dear  mistress  so  universally 
beloved. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

GAY     CHEKITOtf. 

I  WAS  afraid  Mrs.  Markham  did  not  understand  chil- 
dren. Nothing  would  induce  Reggie  to  let  her  kiss  him; 
he  beat  her  off  in  his  usual  fashion,  with  a  sulky  «'  Go, 
go,"  and  hid  his  face  on  my  shoulder.  I  could  see  this 
vexed  her  immensely,  for  she  had  praised  his  beauty  in 
most  extravagant  terms. 

Joyce  listened  with  a  perplexed  expression  on  her'face. 
"  Have  you  ever  seed  an  angel,  Aunt  Adda?"  this  being 
her  childish  abbreviation  of  Adelaide. 

"Dear  me,  nurse,  how  badly  the  child  speaks!  She  is 
more  than  six  years  old,  you  say?  Why,  my  Rolf  is  only 
seven,  and  speaks  beautifully!  What  did  you  say,  Joyce?" 
-very  sharply—"  seen  an  angel?  What  unhealthy"  non- 
sense to  put  into  a  child's  head!  This  comes  of  new- 
fangled ideas  on  your  mother's  part  "—with  a  glance  in 
my  direction.  "No,  child!  of  course  not  No  one  has 
seen  an  angel." 

Joyce  looked  so  shocked  at  this  that  I  hastened  to  inter- 
pret Mrs.  Markham Js  speech. 

'  No  one  sees  angels  now,  Joyce;  not  as  the  good  people 
in  the  Bible  used  to  see  them;  perhaps  we  are  not  good 
enough.     But  what  put  angels  into  your  head,  my  dear?" 
"  Only  Aunt  Adda  said  Reggie  was  like  an  angel,  and  2 


104  MERLE'  \DE. 

thought  she  had  seed  one.    What  is  a  cherub,  nurse  dear? 
Something  good  to  eat?" 

1  saw  a  smile  hovering  on  Mrs.  Markham's  thin  lips. 
Evidently  she  found  Joyce  amusing,  but  just  then  a  loud 
peevish  voice  was  distinctly  audible  in  the  passage. 

"  Mother,  mother,  I  say!    Go  away,  Juddy,  I  tell  you. 
You  are  a  nasty  disagreeable  old  cat — and  1  will  go  to 
mother!" — this  accompanied  by  ominous  kicks. 
-     1  signed  to  Hannah  to  take  the  children  into  the  adjoin- 
ing room.     It  was  Reggie's  bed- time,  and  Joyce  was  tired 
with  her  journey.     The   door  was   scarcely  closed  upon 
.  them  before  the  same  violent  kicking  was  heard  against 
the  nursery  door. 

"  It  is  only  Rolf.  I  am  afraid  he  is  very  cross/ '  ob- 
served Mrs.  Markham,  placidly,  shivering  a  little,  after 
the  fashion  of  people  who  lived  in  India,  as  she  moved 
away  from  t^he  open  window,  and  drew  a  lace  scarf  rotund 
her.  "Judson  is  such  a  bad  manager.  She  never  does 
contrive  to  amuse  him  or  keep  him  quiet." 

"  He  will  frighten  Reggie/'  1  remonstrated,  for  she  4id 
not  offer  to  stop  the  noise,  and  I  went  quickly  to  the  door. 

There  was  a  regular  scuffle  going  on  in  the  passage.  A 
little  boy  in  Highland  dress  was  endeavoring  to  escape 
from  a  young  woman,  who  was  holding  him  back  from  the 
door  with  some  difficulty. 

"  Master  Rolf — Master  Rolf,  what  will  your  mamma 
say?  You  will  make  her  head  ache,  and  then  you  will  ba 
sorry. " 

"  I  sha'n't  be  a  bit  sorry,  Juddy,  I  tell  you!  1  will  g»» 
in,  and — "  Here  he  stopped  and  stared  up  in  my  face, 
He  was  a  pale,  sickly  looking  child,  rather  plain,  as  Miss 
Cheriton  had  said,  but  he  had  beautiful  gray  eyes,  only 
they  were  sparkling  with  anger.  The  young  woman  who 
held  him  by  the  arm  had  a  thin,  care-worn  face — probably 
her  post  was  a  harassing  one,  with  an  exacting  mistress 
and  that  spoiled  boy. 


105 

"  Who  are  you?"  demanded  the  boy,  rudely. 

**  I  am  Miss  Fenton,  the  nurse,"  1  returned.  "  Your 
little  cousins  are  just  going  to  bed,  and  I  can  not  hare  that 
noise  to  disturb  them." 

"  I  shall  kick  again,  unless  you  let  me  come  in  and  see 
them." 

"  For  shame,  Master  Eolf !  Whatever  makes  you  so 
naughty  to-night?" 

"  1  mean  to  be  naughty.  Hold  your  stupid  old  tongue, 
Juddy!  You  are  a  silly  woman.  That  is  what  mother 
calls  you.  I  am  a  gentleman,  and  shall  be  naughty  if  I 
like.  Now  then,  Mrs.  Nurse,  may  I  come  in?" 

"  Not  to-night,  Master  Rolf.  To-morrow,  if  you  are 
good." 

"  Norse,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Markham's  voice  behind 
me,  "  I  do  not  know  what  right  you  have  to  exclude  my 
boy.  Let  him  come  in  and  bid  good-night  to  his  cousins. 
You  will  behave  prettily,  Rolf,  will  you  not?" 

One  look  at  the  surly  face  before  me  made  me  incredu- 
lous of  any  pretty  behavior  on  Rolf's  part.  I  knew  Joyce 
was  a  nervous  child,  and  easily  frightened,  and  already  the 
loud  voices  were  upsetting  Reggie.  I  could  hear  him  cry- 
ing, in  spite  of  Hannah's  coaxing.  I  felt  I  must  be  firm. 
The  nursery  was  my  private  domain.  I  was  determined 
Rolf  should  not  cross  the  threshold  to-night. 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Markham,"  I  returned,  quickly,  "  I 
can  not  have  the  children  disturbed  at  bed -time;  it  is 
against  Mrs.  Morton's  rules.  Master  Rolf  may  pay  us  a 
visit  to-morrow,  if  he  be  good  " — laying  a  stress  on  good— 
"  but  I  can  not  admit  him  to-night." 

She  looked  at  me  with  haughty  incredulity. 

"  1  consider  this  very  impertinent,"  she  muttered,  half 
to  herself.  But  Judson  must  have  heard  her. 

"  Come  with  me,  Rolf  darling.  Never  mind  about  your 
I  dare  say  wo  ^kall  fin*!  something  uico  down- 


108 

stairs;"  and  ftftft  nell  6ut  her  hand  to  him,  but  nfc  pushed 
it  away. 

"Bring  him  to  the  drawing-room,  Judson,"  she1  said, 
coolly,  not  at  all  discomposed  by  his  rudeiie'ss;  but  I  could 
See  my  firmness  had  offended  her.  She  wtmld  not  soon, 
forgive  my  excluding  Rolf. 

Rolf  waited  till  she  was  out  of  sight,  and  then  he  recom- 
menced his  kicks.  I  exchanged  a  glance  With  Judson;  her 
harassed  face  seemed  tb  appeal  to  me  for  help. 

"  Master  Rolf,"  I  said>  indignantly,  "  you  call  yourself 
a  gentleman,  but  you  are  acting  like  an  ill-teinpered  baby 
and  I  shall  treat  you  like  one;"  and  to  his  intense  aston- 
ishment I  lifted  him  off  the  ground,  and;  being  pretty 
strong,  managed  to  carry  him,  in  spite  of  his  kicks  and 
pinches,*  down  to  the  hall,  followed  by  Judsoti.  Probably 
he  had  never  been  so  summarily  dealt  with,  for  his  kicks 
diminished  as  we  descended  the  stairs;  and  I  left  him  on 
the  hall  mat,  looking  rather  subdued  and  ashamed  of  him- 
self. 

I  had  gained  my  point,  but  I  felt  out  of  heart  as  I  went 
back  to  the  nursery.  I  had  entered  the  house^prejudiced 
agahist  Mrs.  Markham,  and  our  first  interview  had  ended 
badly.  My  conscience  justified  me  in  my  refusal  to  admit 
Rolf;  but,  all  the  same,  I  felt  I  had  made  Mrs.  Markharii 
my  enemy.  Her  cold  eyes  had  measured  me  superciliously 
from  the  first  momant.  Very  probably  she  disapproved  of 
my  appearance.  With  women  of  this  caliber — cold,  crit- 
ical, and  domineering  —  poor  gentlewomen  would  have  a 
'chance  of  being  sent  to  the  wall. 

When  the  children  were  asleep  I  seated  myself  rather 
disconsolately  by  the  low  nursery  window.  Hannah  had 
been  summoned  to  the  housekeeper's  room  to  see  her  sister 
Molly,  and  had  left  me  alone. 

I  felt  too  tired  and  dispirited  to  settle  to  my  work  or 
Book;  besides,  it  Was  a  siiame  to  shut  O'ufc  the  moonlight, 
garden  seemed  transformed  into  a  fairy  scene,    A 


10? 


{>road  silvery  path-  way  stretched  across  tfre 
shadows  lurked  under  tho  elms;  an  indescribable  sti}ne$$ 
and  peace  seemed  to  pervade  everything;  tjje  {lowers  and 
birds  were  asleep;  nothing  stirred  bat  a  night  motji, 
stretching  its  dusky  wings  in  the  scented  air,  and  in  the 
distance  the  soft  wash  of  waves  against  the  shore. 

I  laid  my  head  against  the  window  frame,  and  let  the 
summer  breeze  blow  over  my  face,  and  soon  forgot  my 
worries  in  a  long,  delicious  day-dream.  Were  my  thoughts 
foolish,  I  wonder?—  mere  cobwebs  of  girls*  fancies  woven 
together  with  moonbeams  and  rose  scents? 

"  A  girl's  imagination,"  as  Aunt  Agatha  once  said, 
"  resembles  an  unbroken  colt,  that  must  be  disciplined 
and  trained,  or  it.  will  run  away  with  her/'  I  have  a 
notion  tha^t  my  Pegasus  soared  pretty  high  and  far  that 
.night.  I  imagined  myself  an  old  woman  with  wrinkles 
and  gray  hair,  and  cap  border  that  seemed  to  touch  my 
face,  and  I  was  sitting  alone  by  a  fire  reviewing  my  past 
life.  "  It  has  not  been  so  long,  after  all/'  I  thought; 
"  with  the  day's  work  came  the  day's,  strength.  The 
manna  pot  was  never  empty,  and  never  overflowed.  Who 
is  it  said,  *  Life  is  just  a  patchwork?'  I  have  read  it  some- 
where. I  like  that  idea.  *  How  badly  the  children  sew  in 
their  little  bits  —  a  square  here  and  a  star  there.  We  work 
better  as  we  go  on/  Yes,  that  queer  comparison  is  true. 
The  beauty  and  intricacy  of  the  pattern  seem  to  engross 
our  interest  as  the  years  go  on.  When  rest-time  comes  wo 
fold  up  our  work.  Well  done  or  badly  done,  there  will  be 
no  time  for  unpicking  false  stitches  then.  Shall  I  be  satis- 
fied with  my  life's,  work,  I  wonder?  Will  death  be  to  m$ 
only  the  merciful  nurse  that  calls  us  to  rest?" 

"  Why,  Miss  Fenton,  are  you  asleep?  I  have  knocked 
and  knocked  until  I  was  tired/' 

I  started  up  in  some  confusion.  Had  I  faljen  asloep,  I 
wonder?  for  there  was  Miss  Cheriton  standing  neap  me, 
with  an  oddly  shaped  Roman  lamp  in  her 


108  MEttLE*S    CRTJSADB. 

WM  a  gleam  of  fun  in  her  eyes,  as  though  she  were  pleased 
to  catch  me  napping. 

"  You  must  have  been  tired/'  she  said,  smiling.  "  The 
room  looked  quite  eerie  as  I  entered  ifc,  with  streaks  of 
moonlight  everywhere.  Dinner  is  just  over,  and  I  slipped 
away  to  see  if  you  are  comfortable.  I  am  afraid  you  are 
rather  dull." 

But  I  would  not  allow  that,  for  what  business  has  a 
nurse  to  be  subject  to  moods,  like  idle  people?  But  I 
could  not  deny  that  it  was  very  pleasant  to  see  Miss  Cheri- 
ton.  She  was  certainly  very  pretty — a  good  type  of  a 
fresh,  healthy,  happy  English  girl,  and  there  is  nothing  in 
the  world  to  equal  that.  The  creamy  Indian  muslin  gown 
suited  her  perfectly,  and  so  did  the  knot  of  crimson  roses 
and  maiden-hair  against  the  fall  white  throat;  and  the 
small  head,  with  its  coil  of  dark  shiny  hair,  was  almost 
classical  in  its  simplicity.  A  curious  idea  came  to  me  as  I 
looked  at  her.  She  reminded  me  of  a  picture  I  had  seen 
of  one  of  the  ten  virgins — ready  or  unready,  I  wondei 
which!  The  bright-speaking  face,  the  festive  garb,  the 
quaint  lamp,  recalled  to  me  the  figure  in  the  foreground, 
but  in  a  moment  the  vague  image  faded  away. 

"  How  I  wonder  what  you  do  with  yourself  in  the  even- 
ing, when  the  children  are  asleep!"  observed  Gay,  glanc- 
ing at  me  curiously.  Then,  as  1  looked  surprised  at  that, 
she  continued,  sitting  down  beside  me  in  the  window-seat, 
in  the  most  friendly  way  imaginable: 

"  Oh,  Violet  has  told  me  all  about  you.  I  am  quite  in- 
terested,  I  assure  you.  I  know  you  are  not  just  an  citli- 
nary  nurse,  but  have  taken  up  the  work  from  terribly  good 
motives.  Now  I  like  that;  it  interests  me  dreadfully  to 
see  people  in  earnest,  and  yet  I  am  never  in  earnest  my- 
self." 

"  I  shall  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that,  Miss  Cheriton." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  call  me  Miss  Cheriton;  I  am  Miss 
Ctay  to  every  one.  People  never  think  me  quite  grown-up^ 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  10i> 

in  spite  of  my  nineteen  years.  Adelaide  treats  me  like  a 
child,  and  father  makes  a  pet  of  me.  By  the  bye,  you 
nave  contrived  to  offend  Adelaide.  Now,  don't  look 
shocked — 1  think  you  were  quite  right.  Rolf  is  insuffer- 
able; but  you  see  no  one  has  mastered  him  before." 

"  I  was  very  sorry  to  contradict  Mrs.  Markham,  but  I 
am  obliged  to  be  so  careful  of  Joyce — she  is  so  nervous  and 
excitable;  I  should  not  have  liked  her  to  see  Rolf  in  that 
passion." 

"  Of  course  you  were  quite  right;  I  am  glad  you  acted 
as  you  did;  but  you  see  Rolf  is  his  mother's  idol — &er 
'  golden  image/  and  she  expects  us  all  to  bow  down,  to 
him.  Rolf  can  be  a  nice  little  fellow  when  he  is  not  in  his 
tantrums;  but  he  is  fearfully  mismanaged,  and  so  ho  ia 
more  of  a  plague  than  a  pleasure  to  us. " 

"  What  a  pity!"  I  observed;  but  Gay  broke  into  a  laugh 
at  my  grave  face. 

"  Yes,  but  it  can  not  be  helped,  and  his  mother  will 
have  to  answer  for  it.  He  will  be  a  horribly  disagreeable 
man  when  he  grows  up,  as  I  tell  Adelaide  when  1  want,  to 
make  her  cross.  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  Rolf,  Misa 
Fenton;  we  shall  all  forgive  you  if  you  do  box  his  ears." 

"  But  I  should  not  forgive  myself,"  I  returned,  smiling", 
"the  blow  would  do  Rolf  more  harm  than  good."  J3u* 
she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  changed  the  subject,  chat- 
tering to  me  a  little  while  about  the  house  and  the  garden, 
and  her  several  pets,  treating  me  just  as  though  she  felt  1 
was  a  girl  of  her  own  age. 

"  It  is  nice  to  have  some  one  in  the  house  to  whom  one 
can  talk,"  she  said  at  last,  very  frankly;  "  Adelaide  is  BO 
much  older,  and  our  tastes  do  not  agree.  Now,  though 
you  are  so  dreadfully  sensible  and  matter-of-fact,  I  like 
what  I  have  heard  of  you  from  Violet,  and  I  mean  to  come 
and  talk  to  you  very  often.  I  told  Adelaide  that  it  wag  an 
awfully  plucky  thing  of  you  to  do:  for  of  course  we  oan 


310 

uee  in  a  moment  you  have  not  been  used  to  this  sort  of 
thing/' 

"  All  dependent  positions  have  their  peculiar  trials/'  I 
replied.  "  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  in  some  ways  my 
lot  is  superior  to  any  governess's.  Perhaps  I  am  more 
isolated,  but  I  gain  largely  in  independence.  I  live  alone, 
perhaps,  but  then  no  one  interferes  with  me/' 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that  when  Adelaide  is  in  the 
house. " 

"  The  work  is  full  of  interest,"  I  continued,  warming  to 
my  subject,  as  Gay's  face  wore  an  expression  of  intelligent 
curiosity  and  sympathy.  "  The  children  grow,  and  one's 
love  grows  also.  It  is  beautiful  to  watch  the  baby  natures 
developing*  like  seedlings  in  the  early  summer;  it  is  not 
only  ministering  to  their  physical  wants;  a  nurse  has 
higher  work  than  that.  Forgive  me  if  I  am  wearying 
you/'  breaking  off  from  my  subject  with  manifest  effort; 
"  one  must  not  ride  a  hobby  to  death,  and  this  is  my 
hobby." 

"  You  are  a  strange  girl,"  she  said,  slowly,  looking  at 
me  with  large,  puzzled  eyes.  "  I  did  not  know  before  that 
girls  could  be  so  dreadfully  in  earnest,  but  I  like  to  lislen 
to  you.  I  am  afraid  my  life  will  shock  you,  Miss  Fenton; 
not  that  I  do  any  harm  —oh,  no  harm  at  all — only  I  am 
always  amusing  myself.  Life  is  such  a  delicious  thing, 
you  see,  and  we  can  not  be  young  forever. " 

"  Surely  it  is  not  wrong  to  amuse  yourself." 

"  Not  wrong,  perhaps/*  with  a  little  laugh;  "  but  1  lead 
a  butterfly  existence,  and  yet  1  am  always  busy,  too.  How 
is  one  to  find  time  for  reading  and  improving  one's  self  or 
working  for  the  poor,  when  there  are  all  my  pets  to  fend, 
and  the  flower-vases  to  fill,  and  the  bees  and  the  garden? 
and  in  the  afternoon  1  ride  with  father;  and  there  is  ten- 
nis, or  archery,  or  boating;  and  in  the  evening  if  I  did  not 
sing  to  him— well,  he  would  be  so  dull,  for  Adelaide  always 
reads  to  herself,  and  if  4  $o  not  sins:  I  talk  to  him,  or  play 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  Ill 

at  chess;  and  then  there  is  no  time  for  anything;  and  so 
the  days  go  on.'9 

t{  Miss  Gay,  1  do  not  consider  you  are  leading  a  perfect- 
ly useless  life,"  1  observed,  when  she  had  finished. 

"  Not  useless;  but  look  at  Violet's  life  beside  mine." 

"  In  my  opinion  your  sister  works  too  much;  she  is 
using  up  health  and  energy  most  recklessly.  Perhaps  you 
might  do  more  with  your  time,  but  ifc  can  Mot  be  a  useless 
)ife  if  you  are  your  father's  companion.  By  your  own  ac- 
count you  ride  with  him,  sing  to  him,  and  talk  to  him. 
yhis  may  be  your  work  as  much  as  being  a  nurse  is  mine." 

"You  are  very  merciful  in  your  judgment,"  she  said, 
with  a  crisp  laugh,  as  she  rose  from  the  window-seat. 
"  What  a  strange  conversation  we  have  had!  What  would 
Adelaide  have  thought  of  it?  She  is  always  scolding  me 
for  being  irresponsible  and  wasting  time,  and  eveu  fathei 
calls  me  his  '  humming-bird/  You  have  comforted  me  a 
Jlittle,  though  I  must  confess  my  conscience  indorses  their 
opinion.  Good-night,  Miss  Fen  ton.  Violet  calls  you 
Merle,  does  she  not?  and  it  is  such  a  pretty  name.  The 
other  sounds  dreadfully  stiff."  And  she  took  up  her  lamp 
and  left  the  room,  humming  a  Scotch  ballad  as  she  went, 
leaving  me  to  take  up  my  neglected  work,  and  ponder  over 
our  conversation. 

"  Were  they  right  in  condemning  her  as  a  frivolous 
idler?"  I  wondered;  but  I  knew  too  little  of  Gay  Cheriton 
to  answer  that  question.  Only  in  creation  one  sees  beauti- 
ful butterflies  and  humming-birds  as  well  as  working  bees. 
All  are  not  called  upon  to  labor.  A  happy  few  live  in  the 
sunshine,  like  gauzy-winged  insects  in  the  ambient  air. 
Surely  to  cultivate  cheerfulness;  to  be  happy  with  innocent 
happiness;  to  love  and  minister  to  those  we  love,  may  be 
work  of  another  grade.  We  must  be  careful  not  to  point 
out  our  own  narrow  groove  as  the  general  foot-way.  The 
All-Father  has  diversity  of  work  for  us  to  do,  and  all  is  not 
of  the  same  pattern.  _ 


112  IfBJRXife.*   CRUSADE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  LITTLE  WORKERS  IN  BROWN. 

How  delicious  it  is  when  one  is  young  to  wake  up  in  g 
fresh  place  on  a  summer's  morning!  It  was  my  belief  that 
tho  birds  woke  me,  there  was  such  a  twittering  under  the 
eavres,  where  the  house-martins  had  built  their  nests,  such 
a  warbling  of  thrushes  breakfasting  on  the  dewy  lawn,  such 
a  (sawing  of  rooks  under  the  elm-trees;  such  a  joyous  birdj 
symphony  altogether,  while  I  lay  in  my  old-fashioned  blue 
bed,  looking  round  the  quaint  old  room  and  trying  to  de- 
cipher the  meaning  of  the  curious  prints  in  their  black 
frames.  When  I  was  tired  of  this  I  rose  and  went  to  the 
window.  The  kitchen-garden,  with  its  row  of  bee-hives, 
was  just  under  the  window,  and  beyond  were  Cherry  Tree 
Lane  and  Squire  Hawtry's  corn-field,  and  then  a  vague 
blue  line,  and  a  brown  sail  shimmering  in  the  sunlight. 
The  sweet  peacef  ulness  of  the  scene  seemed  to  sink  into 
my  heart,  and  1  could  have  sung  my  "  Te  Deum  "  with 
the  birds. 

When  the  children  were  dressed  and  we  had  finished  our 
ear?.y  breakfast,  I  went  to  the  window  with  Reggie  while 
Hannah  was  clearing  the  table.  Joyce  had  already  climbed 
up  on  the  window-seat;  she  was  wild  to  go  into  the  garden 
arid  see  auntie's  pets,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  no  harm 
to  humor  her  fancy  and  defer  our  walk  to  the  shore. 

As  we  stood  there  Miss  Cheriton  came  out  on  the  ter- 
ra/ie.  She  wore  a  broad-brimmed  hat  and  long  gardening 
gloves,  and  carried  a  basket.  She  gave  a  low,  peculiar 
call,  and  in  a  moment  there  was  a  fluttering  of  wings  in 
thtf  air,  and  a  crowd  of  pigeons  came  round  her  feet  to 
pick  up  the  grain  she  had  scattered;  the  pheasants  and 
peacocks  joined  them. 

1  thought  what  a  pretty  picture  it  would  have  made; 


113 

the  old  red-brick  house  with  its  ivy-covered  gables  in  the 
background;  the  terrace  with  its  sun-dial  and  antique 
vases;  the  girl  in  her  white  gown  with  her  beautiful  pets 
round  her,  her  favorite  blue  pigeons  eating  out  of  her 
hand. 

u  Oh,  auntie,  may  we  come?"  pleaded  Joyce;  and  Mis* 
Cheriton  looked  up  at  us  and  smiled  and  nodded,  and 
Joyce  snatched  her  sun-bonnet,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we 
had  joined  her  on  the  terrace. 

She  greeted  us  with  evident  pleasure,  and  playfully  held 
up  her  finger  to  silence  Joyce. 

1  '*  Don't  make  a  noise,  my  pet,  or  Bolf  will  hear  you  and 
want  to  come  out;  he  is  having  his  breakfast  with  Aunt 
Adelaide;  and  he  is  so  rough  and  tiresome  that  I  do  not 
ca>>e  to  have  him  with  me  just  now;  you  shall  go  with  me 
into  the  poultry-yard  and  feed  the  little  yellow  chicks  your- 
seJt" 

Joyce  was  highly  delighted  at  this  prospect,  and  trotted 
along  in  her  big  white  sun-bonnet,  chattering  as  fast  as  her 
tongue  would  go.  When  we  arrived  at  the  poultry-yard, 
Miss  Cheriton  filled  her  pinafore  with  grain  and  showed 
her  where  to  throw  it,  and  then  picked  up  one  of  the  downy 
y^Jlow  chicks^  for  Reggie  to  kiss  and  hug;  but  he  was  so 
tin  willing  to  part  with  it  that  we  had  some  trouble  to 
rescue  the  warm  struggling  thing;  only  the  speckled  hen 
w  *s  in  such  a  fuss,  clacking  loudly  in  the  midst  of  her 
bmod.  When  we  had  exhausted  the  grain  and  had  fed 
some  gray  rabbits,  and  had  peeped  in  at  the  stables,  and 
hail  bestowed  a  passing  attention  on  the  big  St.  Bernard  in 
hi1?  kennel — Miss  Cheriton's  chief  favorite,  next  to  her 
brown  mare,  Bonnie — we  sat  down  on  a  bench  in  the 
orohard,  at  some  little  distance  from  the  bee-hives,  while 
tho  children  gathered  daisies  and  buttercups. 

"  I  am  so  fond  of  this  old  orchard,"  observed  Miss 
Cheriton,  as  she  threw  down  her  empty  basket  and  removed 
her  gloves,  showing  a  pair  of  small  brown  hands  that 


114  MERLE'S    CRUSADB. 

looked  very  strong  and  capable;  "when  1  have  nothing 
else  to  do,  I  and  my  pets  come  here  and  enjoy  the  quiet! 
Do  you  know,  the  peacocks  and  pheasants  will  follow  ma 
all  over  the  place  as  closely  as  a  dog?  They  don't  mind 
Lion  a  bit;  and  he  is  as  gentle  as  a  lamb.  On  Sunday 
afternoon  I  have  all  the  creatures  round  me.  Adelaide  de- 
clares I  waste  my  time  dreadfully  with  the  beasties." 

"  They  must  give  you  plenty  of  occupation,  Miss  Oheri- 
ton;"  for  1  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  girl  wag 
far  from  idle.  The  care  of  that  extensive  poultry-yard 
could  be  no  sinecure's  office,  besides  which  the  bee-hives 
were  her  exclusive  charge,  though  I  heard  afterward  the 
gardener's  son,  Jim,  was  her  under-helper.  All  the  live 
things  about  the  place  looked  to  her  for  food  and  comfort. 
She  had  a  cage  full  of  canaries  in  the  conservatory,  and  a 
large  gray  parrot  as  well. 

"  Oh,  1  am  always  with  niy  pets  and  flowers  until 
luncheon-time/'  she  remarked,  carelessly.  "Jim  is  a 
very  handy  boy,  and  helps  me  with  the  rough  work.  I 
was  up  at  six  this  morning,  and  we  had  moved  half  the 
pots  in  the  conservatory  before  breakfast.  I  am  always  up 
early,  except  in  the  winter;  the  world  is  not  half  awake  at 
that  time  of  the  year,  and  certainly  not  well  lighted." 

*'  Those  bee-hives  must  be  a  very  profitable  investment/' 
I  observed,  for  I  had  heard  before  now  that  people  had 
added  largely  to  their  incomes  by  keeping  bees. 

"  You  would  be  surprised  how  much  I  make  by  my 
hives,"  she  returned.  "  I  have  only  a  limited  interest  in 
the  poultry-yard,  and  have  to  find  chickens  and  eggs  for 
the  household,  but  the  bee-hives  are  my  own.  I  succeeded 
so  well  with  them  last  year,  and  I  believe  1  shall  do  just  as 
well  this  autumn.  I  am  very  proud  of  my  bees/' 

"  It  would  not  be  a  bad  plan-—"  I  began,  and  then  I 
stepped,  for  I  had  spoken  hastily,  and  how  could  I  know  if 
my  words  would  be  well  received? 

**  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  pretty  air  of  impatience,  "  why 


MERLE'S  CRUSADB.  114 

da  you  stop?  You  have  got  something  dreadfully  sensible 
in  your  head,  and  1  should  like  to  hear  it."| 

"I  am  rather  too  quick  with  my  words,"  I  answered, 
somewhat  hesitating.  "  I  was  only  thinking  of  what  you 
said  last  night;  you  were  condemning  yourself  very  need- 
lessly, as  I  think,  arid  comparing  your  means  of  usefulness 
with  Mrs.  Morton's." 

*  *  With  Violet's  many-sided  duties.  Well,  I  <}o  not.  re- 
tract my  words.  I  said  1  was  always  amusing  myself;  so 
I  am;  my  bees  are  my  playthings." 

"  You  could  make  them  work  for  you  if  you  chose,"  I 
returned,  quickly;  "  if  one  of  these  hives,  for  example, 
were  devoted  to  some  good  purpose,  if  the  money  you  got 
for  the  honey  were  given  to  one  of  those  institutions  in 
which  your  Bister  takes  such  interest/7 

"  Oh,  what  a  nice  idea!"  she  exclaimed  with  a  bright 
look.  *•  I  wonder  what  put  that  into  your  head?  i  wap 
rather  uncomfortable  having  all  that  money  to  spend  on 
myself;  I  thought  of  giving  some  to  Adelaide  for  Rolf, 
only  I  can  not  get  •  up  an  interest  jn  that  boy.  I  have 
more  than  1  want,  for  one  does  not  need  so  many  dresses 
in  the  country,  and  nothing  will  induce  me  to  go  through 
a  London  season  again.  1  tried  it  once,"  with  a  merry 
faugh,  "  just  to  please  Violet,  but  it  nearly  killed  me,  so  I 
.wrote  to  father  to  take  me  away.  I  should  have  liked  the 
balls  very  well,  only  1  got  so  dreadfully  sleepy  before  they 
were  over,  and  the  rides  in  the  Row  were  nice,  if  only  they 
would  have  let  me  gallop,  hut  I  was  nearly  taken  up  fpr 
furious  riding  once  when  I  could  not  get  Bonnie  to  stop, 
and  after  that  Alick  lectured  me,  and  1  got  sick  of  it." 

"  You  would  not  like  your  sister's  life,  then?" 

Gay  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  a  gesture  of  disgust. 

"It  is  not  life  at  all;  it  is  a  daily  round  of  harassing 
duties.  Ldok  what  it  has  done  for  Violet— robbed  her  of 
spirits  and  bloom;  she  will  be  an  old  woman  before  hej? 
time.  The  fun  ie  very  well,  but  there  is  too  much  of  it, 


MT5RLE'S    CRUSADE. 

I  pined  for  fresh  air,  for  the  garden,  and  the  bees, 
my  other  petsj  I  am  afraid  my  partners  thought  mi 
dreadfully  rustic;  I  seemed  to  amuse  them.  I  do  not  car* 
for  the  young  men  in  ball-rooms,  they  are  so  vapid,  and, 
for  all  their  politeness,  they  seemed  to  be  laughing  at  one. " 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  this.  It  was  very  odd  she 
should  be  so  frank  with  me.  She  must  have  forgotten 
that  I  had  no  experience  of  ball-rooms,  and  had  never 
danced  except  at  school-parties,  when  the  girls  were 
allowed  to  bring  their  brothers. 

*  You  are  looking  satirical,  Miss  Fenton.  Oh,  of 
course,  I  see  what  you  mean;  but  never  mind,  there  Are 
better  things  than  balls  in  life.  For  my  part,  I  prefer  a 
solitary  gallop  on  Bonnie  to  Strauss's  best  waltz,  though  I 
do  love  dancing  too;  but,  you  see,  neither  Violet  no/  I 
have  been  trained  to  a  fashionable  life.  We  have  lived  in 
the  country,  have  risen  early,  and  been  in  the  open  air 
from  morning  to  night,  and  now  poor  Violet  never  goet*  to 
bed  in  time  to  get  a  beauty  sleep,  and  she  drives  instead  of 
taking  a  good  walk,  so  no  wonder  her  cheeks  get  pale  and 
thin." 

"  It  is  a  grievous  pity,"  1  began;  but  Gay  interrupted 
jne. 

"  Oh,  it  is  no  use  talking  about  Violet,  I  have  given  ber 
tip  long  ago;  Alick  has  robbed  me  of  her  entirely.  .Now 
about  your  benevolent  project;  I  mean  to  carry  it  out.  Do 
you  know  the  Children's  Incurable  Hospital,  Maida  Vale? 
Violet  is  always  working  for  that.  There  is  to  be  a 
'  Muriel  Cot/  in  memory  of  the  dear  little  baby  she  lost. 
Now  why  should  ]  not  have  a  4  Children's  Hive/  and 
make  those  special  bees  gather  noney  for  those  little  incur- 
able children?  I  call  that  a  lovely  idea.  Look,  that  ond 
hive  under  the  apple-tree  shall  be  the  one.  Miss  Fenton, 
you  have  emancipated  me;  I  feel  a  philanthropist  already; 
the  world  will  be  the  better  for  me  and  my  workers. " 
<  1  looked  at  her  admiringly:  such  a  lovely  color  had  come 


MEKLE'S  CRUSADE. 

to  her  face,  and  her  eyes  looked  so  bright  and  happy.  I 
felt  I  understood  Gay  Cheriton  from  that  moment.  She 
was  one  of  those  guileless,  innocent  natures  that  are  long 
in  throwing  off  childhood.  She  was  full  of  generous  im- 
pulses, frank  and  outspoken  to  a  fault;  the  yoke  of  life 
pressed  lightly  on  her;  she  was  like  an  unbridled  colt,  that 
had  never  felt  the  curb  or  the  spur;  gentle  guidance,  a 
word  from  those  she-  loved,  was  sufficient  to  restrain  her. 
I  knew  now  why  Joyce  had  called  her  the  little  auntie; 
there  was  an  air  of  extreme  youth  about  her;  she  was  so 
very  lovable  that  diminutiveness  suited  her,  and  I  thought 
her  father's  pet  name  of  humming-bird  suited  her  exact- 
ly; she  was  so  quick  and  bright  and  restless,  her  vitality 
and  energy  demanded  constant  movement. 

"  How  I  am  chattering!"  she  said  at  last,  "  and  I  have 
all  the  vases  to  fill  before  luncheon,  but,  as  I  told  you  last 
night,  I  am  fond  of  talking  if  I  can  get  any  one  to  linten 
to  me.  Adelaide  never  will  listen  to  me  patiently;  ehe 
says  I  am  such  a  chatter-box.  Good-bye  for  the  present, 
Miss  Fenton. "  And  she  tripped  away,  singing  in  such  a 
fresh  young  voice  as  she  went  down  the  orchard  that  I  did 
not  wonder  when  a  little  brown  linnet  perched  on  a  rose- 
bush answered  her.  I  think  the  birds  must  have  loved  to 
hear  her. 

I  sat  for  some  time  contemplating  the  low  white  gate 
and  the  row  of  bee-hives.  I  was  rather  pleased  with  the 
idea  I  had  started;  a  word  in  season  sometimes  bring-s  a 
rich  harvest.  I  thought  some  time  of  the  tiny  worker*  in 
their  brown  livery  bringing  in  their  rich  stores  for  the 
afflicted  children;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  offering 
would  be  a  sweet  savor  to  the  Master  who  loved  children. 

I  fell  into  a  reverie  over  it;  I  thought  how  much  might 
be  done  for  others  with  little  cost  if  people  would  only 
think;  it  is  want  of  thought  that  clogs  usefulness.  Great 
sacrifices  are  so  seldom  demanded  from  us;  we  are  no£ 
now  called  upon  to  forsake  all  that  w«  hold  dear  and  foi- 


118  MEELE'S  CRUSADE* 

low  the  Christ — little  daily  duties,  small  hourly  renuncia- 
tions, pleasures  given  up  for  some  cheerful  loving  service; 
these  are  the  free-will  offerings  that  all  may  yield;  only 
the  people  must  give  "  willingly/' 

The  morning  passed  pleasantly  in  the  sunny  orchard; 
when  tLe  children  tired  of  their  play  we  went  back  to  the 
Jiouse,  that  they  might  have  their  noonday  sleep.  I  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  nursery,  mending  Reggie's  pinafore, 
when  I  heard  the  clatter  of  noisy  footsteps  in  the  corridor, 
and  a  moment  after  the  nursery  latch  was  lifted  without 
ceremony,  and  Rolf  peeped  in.  He  had  droll,  half- 
ashamed  expression  on  his  face,  but  it  bore  no  trace  of  yes* 
terday's  ill-humor. 

"  May  I  come  in,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  New  Nurse?" 

"  My  name  is  Miss  Fenton,  as  I  told  you  yesterday;  or 
you  may  call  me  nurse  if  yon  choose.  Yes;  you  may 
come  in  and  talk  to  me  if  you  like,  Master  Rolf;  but  you 
must  be  very  quiet,  as  your  little  cousins  are  asleep." 

"  What  precious  babies  they  must  be  to  sleep  in  the 
day!"  he  observed,  disdainfully,  as  he  planted  himself 
without  ceremony  on  the  window^seat.  "  I  sit  up  until  ten 
o'clock  every  night;  sometimes  I  will  not  go  to  bed  until 
mother  goes.  " 

"  '  Early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise, 
Makes  a  man  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise,' 

Master  Rolf." 

"  Wealthy  means  rich,  doesn't  it?  Well,  Juddy  said  I 
shall  be  a  rich  man  some  day.  I  have  got  father's  watch 
and  sword  now,  only  mother  locks  them  up  until  I  am 
bigger.  You  are  not  rich,  eh,  Miss  Fen  ton?"  peeping  into 
my  face  rather  maliciously. 

"  No,  Master  Rolf,"  I  returned,  quietly. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  that  you  are  only  a  nurse;  I  heard  mother 
aind  Aunt  Gay  talking  about  you  last  night.  Mother  said 
Jfou  were  a  poor  sort,  and  she  wondered  at  Violet's  in- 


MERLE'S  CBUSADE.  11$ 

fatuation.  She  thought  you  stuck  up  and  disagreeable, 
and  not  much  to  look  at;  a  plain  young  woman,  and  Tory 
disrespectful.  There,  now!" 

"  Master  Rolf,"  I  observed,  calmly,  and  suppressing  my 
inward  wrath,  tc  you  call  yourself  a  gentleman,  but  I  as- 
sure you  a  savage  shows  more  gentlemanly  feeling  than 
you.  Don't  you  know  your  mother's  words  should  be 
sacred,  and  you  are-  bound  in  honor  not  to  repeat  them?" 
And  then,*  as  he  seemed  rather  impressed  at  this,  I  told 
him  how,  even  among  savages  and  wild  and  uncultured 
nations,  the  sense  of  hospitality  and  gratitude  was  so 
strong  that,  when  a  man  had  partaken  of  bread  and  salt, 
broken  the  bread  of  .fellowship,  he  was  bound  'in  honor 
not  to  betray  or  injure  his  host  in  any  way;  and  I  related 
to  him  an  anecdote  of  an  Armenian  servant,  who  had  long 
been  faithful  to  his  master,  and  had  defended  him  in  many 
dangers  in  his  travels^  through  a  lawless  country. 

61  The  master,"  I  continued,  "  had  vast  treasures  under 
his  care,  and  he  was  greatly  troubled  when  his  servant  said 
he  must  leave  him.  Judge  what  his  feelings  must  have 
been  when  the  man  coolly  told  him  that  he  had  entered 
into  a  league  with  some  banditti  to  rob  him  of  his  money; 
that  it  would  be  mean  to  remain  in  his  service  under  these 
circumstances,  and  that  he  had  given  him  warning  of  his 
intention,  that  he  might  defend  himself,  and  that  now  they 
were  equal. 

'*  Even  this  lawless  robber  had  some  notions  of  honor, 
Master  Rolf;  while  he  eat  his  master's  bread  and  salt  he 
was  bound  by  his  service  not  to  injure  him.  Now  you  are 
only  a  little  boy,  but  you  ought  to  understand  that  you 
also  are  bound  not  to  betray  your  mother  or  repeat  her 
words,  as  long  as  you  eat  her  bread  and  salt;  that  is  the 
way  people  do  so  much  mischief  in  the  world,  repeating 
things  they  know  are  not  meant  to  be  heard." 

iiolf  s  eyes  sparkled. 

''I  like  that  story  awfully.     Yes,"  and  looking  at  me 


130  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

critically,  "  1  like  you  too,  though  you  are  a  plain  young 
woman.  No,  I  did  not  mean  to  say  that,"  interrupting 
himself  in  a  hurry;  "  bread  and  salt,  you  know;  I  shall 
always  think  of  that  when  I  am  going  to  tell  Juddy  things 
that  mother  says.  She  is  an  old  stupid,  you  know,  and 
she  never  has  time  to  make  a  tail  to  my  kite,  and  mother 
says  she  has  no  patience  with  her,  she  is  such  an — oh,  oh, 
Miss  Fen  ton,  bread  and  salt!  How  ever  shall  I  remember 
when  I  want  to  put  Juddy  in  a  rage?" 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  help  you  with  your  kite," 
I  returned,  changing  the  subject,  **  but  we  shall  want  plenty 
of  string  and  paper." 

"  Oh,  you  nice  old  thing  I9'  replied  Rolf,  ecstatically. 
"  You  are  not  a  bit  plain,  not  a  bit;  I  shall  tell  mother  I 
think  you  lovely,  and  that  I  mean  to  marry  you  when  I 
grow  up.  Won't  she  stare  at  that?  May  I  bring  my  kite 
here  this  afternoon?" 

"  No,  no,  my  dear,  not  this  afternoon;  we  are  going  to 
the  shore." 

"  Oh,  then  I  will  come  with  you.  Mother,"  as  Mrs. 
Markham  appeared  at  the  door,  and  looked  at  us  with  un- 
feigned surprise,  "  I  can't  drive  with  you  this  afternoon;  I 
am  going  on  the  beach  with  Miss  Fenton  and  the  chil- 
dren." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
"BREAD  AND   SALT.'* 

I  THOUGHT  Mrs.  Markham  looked  somewhat  displeased. 

"  We  must  ask  your  mother's  permission,  Master  Rolf;" 
tfren,  turning  to  her,  "I  hope  you  will  allow  him  to  go 
vnth  us  this  afternoon;"  for,  in  spite  of  his  rude  ways,  I 
felt  full  of  pity  for  the  lonely  little  boy;  he  seemed  to 
have  no  playfellows  except  poor  Judson,  who  was  a  low- 
spirited,  overworked  young  woman.  It  must  have  been 
dreary  for  him  to  be  in  a  household  of  grown-up  peopl% 


!  \r>E.  11 

all  voted  'him  a  plague  and  took  no  (rouble  to  amus« 
him.  Spoiled  children  are  seldom  happy  ones;  and  it  did 
not  need  a  second  look  at  Eolf 's  pale,  sickly  face  to  road 
the  lines  of  discontent  and  peevishness. 

* '  I  am  rather  surprised  that  Miss  Fen  ton  should  m&ke 
such  a  request  after  her  treatment  of  my  boy  yesterday, " 
returned  Mrs.  Markham,  ungraciously.  I  think  if  she  Lad 
dared  to  contradict  Eolf  she  would  not  have  given  her 
consent,  but  a  sulky  look  was  already  clouding  his  face. 

"  Never  mind  about  that,"  he  said,  impatiently;  "  MVss 
Fen  ton  is  going  to  make  the  tail  for  my  kite;  and  I  um 
going  out  with  her  this  afternoon,  and  1  shall  and  vill 

go." 

*'  Master  Rolf,  that  is  not  the  way  to  answer  y^nr 
mother." 

"  You  may  leave  me  to  rebuke  my  own  child/'  she  ob- 
served, coldly.  "  Very  well,  Rolf;  you  may  go,  but  .you 
need  not  be  so  cross  about  it.  I  came  to  see  about  ^he 
children,  Miss  Fenton;  I  think  it  is  too  hot  for  them  to  go 
on  the  beach  this  afternoon." 

"  Joyce  will  wear  her  sun-bonnet;  and  there  is  a  r\ice 
breeze,"  I  returned,  somewhat  ruffled  by  this  interference. 
I  fancy  she  did  it  to  aggravate  me,  for  there  was  no  fa  alt 
to  be  found  with  the  weather,  and  I  knew  my  mistiess 
always  left  these  things  to  me. 

She  remained  for  a  few  minutes  making  little  sugges- 
tions about  the  ventilation  and  the  nursery  arrangements, 
which  I  bore  as  patiently  as  I  could,  though  the  harsh, 
metallic  voice  irritated  me  dreadfully.  1  did  not  wish  to 
be  disrespectful  to  Mrs.  Markham,  but  I  did  not  feel  bound 
to  obey  her  orders,  and  I  knew  I  should  tell  her  so  if  any 
grave  dispute  arose  between  us.  I  was  rather  relieved 
when  she  left  the  room  at  last,  taking  Rolf  with  her;  but 
in  a  few  minutes  afterward  Judson  glided  in  on  tiptoe. 

"Oh,  Miss  Fenton/'  she  said,  in  a  pathetic  voice,  i{l 
am  so  grateful  to  you  for  promising  to  take  charge  of 


MBELE'S  CRUSADE. 

tfljr  5p.lf  this  afternoon;  I  thought  there  would  b©  guch  A 
piece  of  work;  Master  Rolf  thought  he  was  going  out  in 
the  carnage,  and  Mrs.  Markham  has  friends,  and  can  not 
find  room  for  him;  and  what  I  should  have  done  with  him 
all  the  aftrenoon,  1  hardly  know." 

"  If  Rolf  is  good  1  have  no  objection  to  take  charge  of 
him;'  I  am  very  fond  of  children,  only  they  must  be 
obedient.-" 

44  Obedience  is  an  unknown  word  to  Master  Rolf,"  re- 
turned Judson,  lugubriously;  "  times  out  of  number  that 
boy  has  got  me  into  trouble,  ju&fc  because  he  would  not 
mind  a  word  I  said.  Why,  he  got  the  colonel's  sword  out 
of  his  mother's  wardrobe  one  day,  and  nearly  killed  him- 
sejf,  and  another  morning  he  fired  off  his  grandfather's 
gun,  that  had  been  loaded  by  mistake,  and  shot  poor  old 
Pincher — not  that  he  meant  to  do  it;  he  was  aiming  at  qne 
of  the  pheasants." 

This  was  not  pleasant  to  hear,  and  I  inwardly  resolved 
not  to  trust  the  children  out  of  my  sight;  for  who  could 
tell  what  unforeseen  accident  might  arise  from  Rolf's  reck- 
lessness? 

"  Mrs.  Markham  blames  me  for  all  that  happens,"  went 
on  Judson,  "  and  Master  Rolf  knows  that,  and  there  is  no 
Checking  him;  he  is  not  merely  so  mischievous  when  his 
mother  is  near,  because  she  loses  patience,  and  has  more 
than  once  boxed  his  ears,  soundly.  She  spoils  him  dread- 
fully, and  he  takes  liberties  with  her  as  no  child  ought  to 
take  with  a  parent;  but  now  and  then,  when  he  has  aggra- 
vated her  past  bearing,  I  have  known  her  punish  hiir 
pretty  sharply." 

This  was  sad;  injudicious  indulgence,  and  injudicious 
severity.  Who  could  wonder  if  the  results  were  unsatis- 
factory? 

'  "  No  one  dares  to  say  a  word  to  him  except  his  moth- 
er," went  on  Judson;  "  it  is  just  her  temper  whan  §fc$  files 
out  at  him;  but  she  worships  the  very  ground  he  walks  on. 


CRUSlbfe.  123 

1?  his  finger  aches  she  thinks  he  is  going  to  die,  and  tiie 
house  is  in  an  uproar;  and  yet  when  he  is  ill  he  is  as  con- 
trary as  possible,  and  will  not  take  a  thing  from  her,  for 
all  her  petting  and  coaxing." 

It  seemed  a  relief  to  Judson  to  pour  out  her  woes,  and  I 
cou\l  hardly  refuse  to  listen  to  her.  She  was  evidently  at- 
tached to  her  mistress,  with  whom  she  had  lived  since  her 
marriage;  but  she  was  one  of  those  helpless  beings  who  are 
made  the  butt  of  other  people's  wills  and  passions;  she  had 
no  dignity  of  mind  to  repel  even  childish  impertinence; 
her  nervous,  vacillating  ways  would  only  increase  Rolf's 
tyrannical  nature. 

I  could  understand  how  a  high-spirited  bojr  would  resist 
any  command  enforced  by  that  plaintive  voice.  A  few 
quick  concise  words  would  influence  him  more  than  a  tor- 
rent of  feeble  reproaches  from  Judson.  He  was  not  with- 
out'generous  impulses  —  what  English  boy  is?  —  he  had 
grasped  at  once  my  meaning  when  I  rebuked  him  for  his 
want  of  gentlemanly  honor,  but  he  was  too  precocious  and 
overbearing,  and  had  lived  too  much  in  the  society  of 
grown-up  people. 

My  knowledge  of  the  world  was  not  great,  hut  I  know 
how  deficient  in  reticence  many  grown-up  people  are  in 
the  presence  of  children;  the  stream  of  talk  that  is  podred 
into  the  little  pitchers  is  often  defiled  with  low  conven- 
tional views  of  duty  and  painfully  uncharitable  remarks; 
the  pure  mirror  of  a  child's  mind — and  how  pure  that 
mind  often  is!— is  frequently  sullied  by  some  unchristian 
observations  from  lips  that  to  the  child  are  half  divine. 
"  See  how  ye  offend  one  of  these  little  ones,"  was  the  Mas- 
ter's warning;  and  yet  if  we  could  look  into  one  of  these 
young  minds,  we  should  often  see  its  placid  serenity  broken 
up  and  ruffled  by  some  unthinking  speech,  flung  like  a 
pitiless  pebble  into  its  brightness. 

Alter  id!*  we  spent  a  pleasant  afternoon  on  the  beach, 


£84 

and  1  do  not  believe  the  children  enjoyed  themselves 
than  Hannah  and  I. 

It  was  not  a  long  walk  to  the  shore  if  we  had  followed 
the  direct  route;  but  1  wanted  to  see  the  pretty  village  of 
N'Btherton  more  closely;  so  we  walked  past  the  church  and 
dcwn  the  main  street,  and  turned  off  by  the  row  of  bunga- 
lows that  skirted  the  cliff,  and,  crossing  the  corn-fields, 
made  our  way  down  a  narrow  cutting  to  a  little  strip  of 
shingly  beach,  with  its  border  of  yellow  sands  washed  by 
the  summer  surf.  I  would  willingly  have  sat  under  the 
break-water  all  the  afternoon,  watching  the  baby  waves 
lapping  upon  the  sands,  and  laying  driblets  of  brown  and 
green  seaweed  on  the  shore,  while  Reggie  brought  me  wet 
pebbles  and  little  dried- up  crabs  and  empty  mussel  shells, 
but  Rolf  wanted  me  to  help  with  his  sand  castle;  indeed, 
we  were  all  pressed  into  the  service;  even  Reggie  dug  up 
tiny  dabs  of  sand  and  flung  them  at  us,  under  the  belief 
that  he  was  helping  too. 

"What  a  pretty  scene  it  was,  when  the  castle  was  finished, 
and  its  ramparts  adorned  with  long  green  festoons  and 
pennants  of  brown  ribbon  seaweed;  and  Reggie  sat  at  the 
tap  kicking  his  little  bare  legs  with  delight,  while  Rolf  dug 
the  trench  down  to  the  sea,  which  filled  and  bubbled  over 
in  a  miniature  lake,  in  which  disported  the  luckless  crabs 
and  jelly  fish  which  he  had  collected  for  his  aquarium. 

There  is  something  sad  in  the  transitoriness  of  children's 
play  on  the  shore;  they  are  so  eager  to  build  up  their  sand 
towers  and  mounds.  When  the  feeble  structure  is  finished 
the  little  work-people  give  a  cry  of  joy,  as  though  some 
great  task  were  accomplished.  Then  the  waves  creep  up 
stealthily;  there  is  a  little  cold  lisping  outside  the  out- 
works, as  though  the  treacherous  foes  were  lurking  around; 
in  a  few  seconds  the  toy  castle  is  in  ruins.  The  children 
look  at  the  gray  pool  that  has  ingulfed  their  treasure  with 
wide,  disappointed  eyes. 

*'  Oh,  the  greedy  sea,"  they  say>  "  it  has  destroyed  our 


ORFflADR.  135 

<m*tle!"  But  to-morrow  they  will  come  again  with  beauti- 
ful childish  faith  and  build  another,  and  still  another, 
until  some  new  game  is  proposed,  or  they  are  weary  of 


Kt  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  turned  our 
faces  homeward.  Joyce  was  tired,  so  we  put  her  in  the 
perambulator,  and  I  carried  Reggie.  Rolf  hung  behind 
rather  sulkily;  fatigue  evidently  made  him  cross;  but  he 
brightened  up  in  an  instant  when  the  sound  of  horses' 
hoofs  struck  on  our  ears,  and  in  another  moment  a  little 
cavalcade  came  in  sight — Miss  Cheriton  mounted  on  her 
pretty  brown  mare  Brownie,  and  her  father  and  Mr.  Haw« 
try  on  either  side  of  her. 

She  smiled  and  waved  her  hand  to  us,  and  Mr.  Hawtr^ 
raised  his  hat  slightly.  They  would  have  passed  on,  but 
Rolf  exclaimed,  4i  Oh,  do  take  me  up  for  a  ride,  Mr.  Haw- 
try,  I  am  so  tired!"  and  Mr.  Hawtry  looked  at  Miss  Cheri- 
ton, and  pulled  up  at  once. 

"  Put  your  foot  on  my  boot,  then,  and  I  can  reach 
you,"  he  returned;  and  as  Hannah  lifted  him  up,  not 
without  difficulty,  he  threw  his  arm  round  him,  and  kept 
him  steady.  "Now,  then,  hold  tight;  we  must  overtake 
the  others,"  I  heard  him  say,  and  they  were  soon  out  of 
sight. 

"  It  must  be  werry  nice  to  be  Rolf,"  sighed  Joyce,  en- 
viously, as  Hannah  wheeled  her  up  the  dusty  road. 

I"  think  we  were  all  glad  when  we  had  reached  the  cool 
nm'sery,  and  found  a  plentiful  tea  spread  on  the  round 
table.  The  children  were  so  sleepy  that  we  were  obliged 
to  put  them  to  bed  as  soon  as  they  had  finished  their  tea. 

Rolf  did  not  make  his  appearance  until  later,  and  then 
he  burst  into  the  room  with  his  arm  full  of  paper  and 
•trrng,  and  we  were  very  soon  hard  at  work  on  the  win^ 
dow-seat,  constructing  the  tail  for  his  kite. 

He  was  in  high  spirits,  <md  talked  volubly  all  the  time. 

"  I  told  mother  about  brs  .£  and  aiklt,"  he  began,  "  and 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

she  liked  the  idea  very  much.  She  made  me  repeat  it 
again  to  grandpapa,  and  he  patted  me  on  the  head,  and 
gave  me  half  a  crown.  When  grandpapa  is  pleased  about 
anything  he  always  gives  people  half  a  crown.  1  think  he 
ought  to  give  you  one,  Fenny.  Do  you  mind  my  calling 
you  Fenny?  it  sounds  so  nice,  rather  like  funny,  and  you 
are  so  funny  sometimes. " 

"  It  sounds  much  more  like  Fanny, "  I  returned. 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so?  1  will  ask  Aunt  Gay  what  she 
thinks.  Aunt  Gay  is  so  fond  of  you;  she  told  me  so  to- 
day, only  she  said  it  was  a  secret,  so  you  must  keep  it.  I 
told  Mr.  Hawtry  the  story  about  the  robber  servant  this 
evening  after  dinner,  and  he  said  that  he  was  a  plucky  fel- 
low, in  spifce  of  his  being  a  robber;  and  so  I  think.  Do 
you  like  Mr.  Hawtry,  Fenny?" 

"  I  do  not  know  him,  dear." 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course,  you  are  only  a  nurse,  and  so  you 
don't  come  in  the  drawing-room  like  other  people;  you 
would  not  know  how  to  behave,  would  you?  Mr.  Hawtry 
said  something  about  you  this  evening.  Mother  was  talk- 
ing to  him,  you  know  how,  only  I  can't  tell  you — bread 
and  salt,  you  know;"  and  here  Rolf  looked  excessively 
solemn;  "-and  Mr.  Hawtry  said — no,  don't  stop  me,  it  is 
nothing  bad,  nothing  like  mother;  oh,  dear,  it  will  come 
out,  I  know — he  only  sa,d,  '  She  seems  a  very  quiet,  well- 
conducted  young  person,  and  not  at  all  above  her  duties;' 
for  you  were  carrying  Reggie,  you  know/5 

"  Oh,  Rolf,  do  hold  your  tongue!"  I  exclaimed,  crossly; 
for  this  was  too  much  for  my  forbearance.  What  business 
iiad  Mrs.  Markham  to  talk  me  over  with  strangers.  I 
oug-ht  to  have  stopped  Rolf,  but  my  curiosity  was  too 
strong  at  that  moment.  "  A  quiet,  well-conducted  young 
person,"  indeed!  I  felt  in  a  fever  of  indignation. 

Rolf  looked  from  his  kite  with  some  surprise. 

**  Does  talking  disturb  you?  We  are  getting  on  beauti- 
iolly.  What  a  lovely  tail  my  kite  will  havel"  Then,  39 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

though  a  thought  struck  him,   "  Are    you    ever 
Fenny;  really  cross,  I  mean?" 

"  Yes,  very  often,  Holt/'  for  being  a  fairly  conscien- 
tious person,  I  could  not  deny  my  faults  of  temper. 

*'0h!"  with  a  peculiar  intonation,  "I  wonder  if  Aunt 
Gay  knows  that.  Do  you  remember  any  anecdotes  about 
crossness,  Fenny?" 

I  am  afraid  of  what  my  answer  might  have  been,  for  I 
was  considerably  nettled  at  Rolf's  malicious  tone,  but  hap- 
pily Judson  came  at  that  moment  with  a  message  from 
Mrs.  Markham  that  even  Eolf  did  not  dare  to  disobey,  for 
he  ran  off  at  once,  without  bidding  me  good-night,  and 
leaving  all  his  tackle  strewn  over  the  floor  for  Judson  to 
clear. 

As  soon  as  I  was  left  in  solitude,  I  went  to  the  open  win« 
dow.  It  was  clear  moonlight  again.  There  were  the  tree- 
shadows,  and  the  long,  silvery  path  across  the  meadows;  a 
warm  radiance  from  the  drawing-room  was  flung  across  the 
terrace.  The  same  sweet  bird-like  voice  that  I  had  heard 
in  the  orchard  that  morning  was  singing  an  old-fashioned 

ballad— 

"  My  mother  bids  me  bind  my  hair." 

Some  one  clapped  their  hands  and  said  "  Bravo!"  when 
it  was  finished. 

"What  a  lovely  evening!  Do  come  into  the  garden, 
Adelaide;  it  is  quite  warm  and  balmy/'  And  then  then* 
was  a  rustle  and  movement  underneath  me,  a  sweep  of 
dark  drapery,  followed  by  the  whisk  of  a  white  gown,  as 
Gay  ran  down  the  steps  pursued  by  Rolf.  Two  gentlemen 
sauntered  down  the  terrace;  one  of  them  was  Mr.  Hawtry; 
I  could  hear  his  voicie  quite  plainly. 

"  This  is  a  capital  cigarette,  squire.     When  a  man  is 
not  much  of  a  smoker,  he  will  not  put  up  with  an  inferior* 
article.     1  have  some  cigars    by  me  now — "    The  re- 
mainder of  the  interesting  sentence  was  lost  in  the  dis- 
tance. 


8  .MERLE'S  GRUSAI>«. 

i£en  are  rather  satirical  on  the  subject  of  women's  talk. 
quiz  us  dreadfully,  and  insist  that  our  main  topic  is 
bonnets;  but  1  am  not  sure  that  we  could  not  retaliate 
with  equal  force.  Bonnets  can  be  treated  as  works  of  art, 
but  could  anything  be  more  trivial  and  worthless  than  a 
cigar? 

They  were  still  talking  about  the  odious  things  when 
they  returned,  only  I  was  too  disgusted  to  listen  any  mere. 
I  was  in  a  bad  humor,  that  was  certain — one  of  those 
moods  when  only  a  real  tough  piece  of  work  can  relieve 
one.  I  closed  the  window  and  drew  down  the  blind,  and 
then  armed  myself  with  my  pocket  dictionary.  I  woEitf 
write  a  long  letter  to  my  mistress,  and  tell  her  about  on, 
afternoon  on  the  beach,  and  I  would  pick  out  the  harden* 
and  most  difficult  words — those  that  I  generally  eschewed. 

1  heard  afterward  I  had  written  a  beautiful  letter,  without 
a  single  mistake,  and  that  my  mistress  read  it  over  and  owr 
again — that  is,  that  she  considered  it  beautiful,  because  it 
was  all  about  the  children. 

"  Nonsense,  Merle,  it  was  a  sweet  letter,  and  I  showed 
it  to  my  husband." 

1  was  in  a  better  humor  when  I  had  finishfe-1  it,  and 
called  Hannah. 

4<  Hannah,  we  shall  go  on  the  beach  to-mouow  mom- 
ing,  and  so  I  shall  be  able  to  spare  you  in  the  afternoon; 
I  shall  not  take  the  children  further  than  Uie  garden. 
You  can  go  and  have  tea  with  your  sister,  if  yt>u  like,  and 
you  need  not  hurry  home.  I  am  growing  far  ^oo  idle,,  and 
1  have  not  half  enough  to  do;"  for  I  wanted  to  check  any 
expression  of  gratitude  on  the  girl's  part;  bjt  a  tap  at  tae 
door  silenced  us  both. 

It  was  only  Miss  Cheriton  come  to  wisL  me  good-night. 
She  had  a  basket  of  fruit  and  a  dainty  likje  bunch  of  roses 
in  her  hand. 

lf  I  saw  the  light  in  your  window,  jsad  thought  of  the 
poor  prisoner  behind  it,  aadJL  thought  this  would  eheer 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

up,"  laying  her  pretty  offering  on  the  table.  "  I  ana. 
going  to  take  you  all  for  a  drive  to-morrow  through  Orton- 
on-Sea;  the  children  will  like  to  see  the  shops  and  jetty. 
Well,  good-night;  I  am  dreadfully  sleepy;  to-morrow  we 
•will  have  another  long  talk.  And  then  she  left  me  alone 
with  the  roses. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ANOTHER  VISITOR  AT  MARSHLANDS. 

THE  following  two  or  three  weeks  passed  rapidly  and 
pleasantly;  but  for  two  serious  drawbacks  that  hindered 
my  thorough  enjoyment,  I  should  have  owned  myself  per- 
fectly happy,  but  Mrs.  Markhara  and  Rolf  were  perpetual 
thorns  in  my  side. 

A  consciousness  of  being  disliked  by  any  human  being, 
however  uncongenial  to  us,  is  always  a  disagreeable  discov- 
ery. The  cause  of  the  repellent  action  of  one  mind  on  an- 
other may  be  an  interesting  psychological  study,  but  in 
practice  it  brings  us  to  a  sadder  and  lower  level.  I  knew 
Mrs.  Markham  honestly  disliked  me;  but  the  cause  of  such 
marked  disfavor  utterly  baffled  me. 

Most  people  found  her  fascinating;  she  was  intellectual 
and  refined,  and  had  many  good  qualities,  but  she  was  not 
essentially  womanly.  Troubles  and  the  loss  of  her  chil- 
dren had  hardened  her;  imbittered  by  disappointment — • 
for  her  married  life,  short  as  it  was,  had  been  singularly 
unhappy — she  had  come  back  to  her  father's  house  a  cold, 
resentful  woman,  who  masked  unhappiness  under  an  air  ot 
languid  indifference,  and  whose  strong  will  and  concealed 
love  of  power  governed  the  whole  household.  "  Adelaide 
manages  us  all,"  Miss  Cheriton  would  say,  laughing;  and  I 
used  to  wonder  if  she  ever  rebelled  against  her  sister's  dic- 
tates. I  knew  the  squire  was  like  wax  in  the  hands  of  hii 
oldest  daughter;  he  was  one  of  those  indolent,  peace-loving 
who  are  governed  by  their  woinanidna;  his  wile  had 

6  "  ** 


S&O 

jated  liim>  aM  feow  his  Widowed  daughter  &6M  th& 
I  think-  Gay  wag  like  her  father;  she  went  6h  her  oWtt  Way 
&nd  shut  her  eyes  to  anything  disagreeable.  It  woulfl 
tiever  have  done  for  me  to  quarrel  Openly  frith  Mrs*  Mark- 
ham;  common  sense  and  respect  for  my  mistress's  sisteV 
kept  me  silent  under  great  provocation.  1  coil  trolled  my 
words,  and  in  some  measure  I  controlled  voice  and  out- 
ward manner,  but  my  inward  antagonism  must  have  re- 
vealed itself  now  and  then  by  an  unguarded  tone. 
,  My  chief  difficulty  was  to  prevent  her  spoiling  Joyce. 
After  the  first;  she  had  become  very  fond  of  the  child,  and 
was  always  sending  for  her  to  the  drawing-room^  and  load- 
ing her  with  tftys  and  sweetmeats.  Mr.  Morton's  Orders 
had  been  very  stringent  about  sweetmeats,  and  again'  and 
again  I  was  obliged  to  confiscate  poor  Joyce's  goodies,  as 
she  called  them.  I  had  exit-acted  from  her  a  promise  that 
She  should  eat  nothing  out  of  the  nursery,  and  nothing 
could  indtiee  the  child  to  disobey  me. 

"  Nurse  says  I  mustn't,  Aunt  Adda,"  was  her  constant 
reinark;  arid  Mrs.  Mafkhflm  chose  to  consider  herself  ag- 
grieved at  this  childish  obstinacy.  She  spoke  td  me  onee 
about  it  with  marked  displeasure. 

"  I  have  had  children  of  my  own,  and  I  suppose  I  know 
what  is  good  for  them,"  she  Said,  with  a  touch  Of  seorit  in 
her  Voice;  "  you  have  no  right  to  enforce  such  ridieuldtis 
rules  on  Joyce. J) 

"I  have  Mrs.  Morton's  orders,''  I  replied,  eartty, 
**  Doctor  Myrtle  told  me  to  be  very  careful  of  Joyce's  diet, 
I  can  not  allow  her  to  eat  things  I  know  will  hurt  her;'' 
and  I  continued  to  confiscate  the  goodies. 

But  though  I  was  firm  in  all  that  concerned  the  chil 
dren's  health*  there  were  many  occasions  on,  which  I  Was 
Obliged  to  submit  to  Mrs.  Markham's  interference.  Very 
often  lay  plans  for  the  day  were  frustrated  for  no  legiti- 
ifl&te  eattse.  I  Was  disposed  to  think  sometimes  that  &Ke 
&  tliis  way  just  to  vex  the  and  taak£  me 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  181 

temper.  If  we  were  starting  for  the  beach,  Judson  would 
Dring  as  a  message  that  her  mistress  would  prefer  my  tak- 
ing the  children  into  the  orchard;  and  sometimes  on  a  hot 
afternoon,  when  we  were  comfortably  ensconced  on  tha 
bench  under  the  apple-trees,  Judson  would  inform  us  that 
Mrs.  Markham  thought  we  had  better  go  down  to  the  sea. 
Sometimes  1  yielded  to  these  demands,  if  I  thought  the 
children  would  not  suffer  by  them,  but  at  other  times  I 
would  tell  Judson  that  the  sun  was  too  hot  or  the  children 
too  tirsd,  and  that  we  had  better  remain  as  we  were.  If 
this  was  the  case,  Mrs.  Markham  would  sometimes  come 
out  herself  and  argue  the  matter,  but  I  always  stood  my 
ground  boldly,  though  I  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  after- 
noon's post  would  convey  a  letter  to  Prince's  Gate  com- 
plaining of  my  impertinence  in  disputing  her  orders. 

My  mistress's  letters  were  my  chief  comfort,  and  they 
generally  came  on  the  morning  after  one  of  these  disputes. 
She  would  write  to  me  so  affectionately,  and  tell  me  how 
she  missed  me  as  well  as  the  children,  and  though  she 
never  alluded  openly  to  what  had  occurred,  there  was 
always  a  little  sentence  of  half- veiled  meaning  that  set  my 
mind  at  rest. 

"  My  sister  Gay  tells  me  that  the  children  are  getting  so 
brown  and  strong  with  the  sea  air/'  she  wrote  once,  "  and 
that  dear  little  Joyce  has  quite  a  nice  color.  Thank  you 
so  much  for  your  ceaseless  care  of  them;  you  know  I  trust 
you  implicitly,  Merle,  and  I  have  no  fear  that  you  will  dis- 
appoint me;  your  good  sense  will  carry  you  safely  through 
any  little  difficulty  that  may  arise.  Write  to  me  as  often 
as  you  can;  your  letters  are  so  nice.  I  am  very  busy  and 
very  tired,  for  this  ball  has  entailed  so  much  work  and 
fuss,  but  your  letters  seem  to  rest  me.'-% 

Rolf  was  also  a  serious  impediment  to  my  enjoyment. 
Ever  since  I  had  helped  him  with  his  kite,  he  had  attached 
himself  to  me,  and  insisted  on  joining  us  in  all  our 
in  spending  the  greater  rart  of  his  day  witb 


MERLE'S    CRUSADE. 

was  tolerably  certain  in  my  own  mind  that  this 
infatuation  excited  Mrs.  Markham/s  jealousy.  Until  wa 
had  arrived  she  had  been  Rolf's  sole  companion;  he  had 
accompanied  her  in  her  drives,  harassed  her  from  morning 
to  night  with  his  ceaseless  demands  for  amusements,  and 
had  been  the  secretly  dreaded  torment  of  all  the  visitors 
to  Marshlands,  except  Mr.  Hawtry,  who  was  rather  good 
to  him. 

His  precocity,  his  love  of  practical  jokes,  and  his  rough 
impertinence,  made  him  at  feud  with  the  whole  household; 
the  servants  disliked  him,  and  were  always  bringing  com- 
plaints of  Master  Rolf.  I  believe  Judson  was  fond  of  him 
in  a  way,  but  then  she  had  had  charge  of  him  from  a 
baby. 

When  Rolf  began  to  desert  the  drawing-room  for  the 
nursery,  Mrs,  Markham  used  all  her  efforts  to  coax  him 
back  to  her  sids,  but  she  might  as  well  have  spoken  to  the 
wind.  Rolf  played  with  Joyce  on  the  beach;  he  raced  her 
up  and  down  the  little  hillocks  in  the  orchard,  or  hunted 
with  her  for  wild  flowers  in  the  lanes  that  surrounded 
Marshlands.  When  the  children  were  asleep,  he  invaded 
my  quiet  with  requests  to  mend  his  broken  toys  or  join 
him  in  some  game.  1  grew  quite  expert  in  rigging  his  new 
boat,  and  dressed  toy  soldiers  and  sailors  by  the  dozen. 
Sometimes  1  was  inclined  to  rebel  at  such  waste  of  time, 
but  I  remembered  that  Rolf  had  no  playfellows;  it  was 
better'  for  him  to  be  playing  spillikins  or  go-bang  with  me 
;?\  the  nursery  than  lounging  listlessly  about  the  drawing- 
room,  listening  to  grown-up  people's  talk;  a  child's  natu- 
ral life  was  better  for  his  health.  Miss  Cheriton  told  me 
more  than  once  that  people  who  came  to  the  house  thought 
Rolf  so  much  improved.  Certainly  he  was  not  so  pale  and 
fretful  after  a  long  morning  spent  on  the  beach  in  wading 
Knee-deep  to  .sail  his  boat  or  digging  sand  wells  which 
Joyce  tilled  out  of  her  bucket  When  he  grew  too  rough 
or  boisterous  I  a]*"*^-***^  Joyce  away,  and-  with 


MERLE'S    nnTSAPlC.  ]38 


tiah  and  myself  to  look  after  them  no  harm  could  corse  t« 
the  children. 

I  grew  rather  fond  of  Rolf  after  a  time,  and  his  com- 
pany would  not  have  been  irksome  to  me,  but  for  his  tire- 
some habit  of  repeating  the  speeches  ke  had  heard  in  the 
drawing-room.  He  always  checked  himself  when  he  re* 
membered,  or  when  I  held  up  my  finger,  but  the  half  sen- 
tence would  linger  in  my  memory. 

But  this  was  not  the  worst.  I  soon  found  out  that  any- 
thing I  told  him  found  its  way  into  the  drawing-room; 
In  fact,  Rolf  was  an  inveterate  chatter-box.  With  all  hia 
good  intentions,  he  could  not  hold  his  tongue,  and  mischief 
was  often  the  result. 

It  was  my  habit  to  teach  the  children  little  lessons  un- 
der the  guise  of  a  story,  sometimes  true,  sometimes  a  mere 
invention.  Rolf  called  them  "  Fenny's  Anecdotes,"  but 
I  had  never  discovered  an  anecdote  about  crossness. 

One  day  I  found  myself  being  severely  lectured  by  Mrs. 
Markham  for  teaching  her  son  the  doctrine  of  works. 
"  As  though  we  should  be  saved  by  our  works,  Miss  Fen- 
ton  !"  she  finished,  virtuously. 

I  was  too  much  puzzled  to  answer;  I  had  no  notion 
what  she  meant,  until  I  remembered  that  I  had  induced 
Rolf  to  part  with  some  of  his  pocket-money  to  relieve  a  poor 
blind  man  whom  we  found  sitting  by  the  way-side.  Rolf 
nad  been  sorry  for  the  man,  and  still  more  for  the  gaunt, 
miserable-looking  woman  by  his  side;  but  when  we  had 
gone  on  our  way,  followed  by  voluble  Irish  blessings,  Rolf 
had  rather  feelingly  lamented  his  sixpence,  and  1  had  told 
him  a  little  story  inculcating  the  beauty  of  alms-giving, 
which  had  impressed  him  considerably,  and  he  had  retailed 
ft  garbled  version  of  it  to  his  mother  —  hence  her  rebuke 
to  me.  I  forget  what  my  defense  was,  only  I  remember  i 
repudiated  indignantly  any  such  doctrine;  but  this  sort  o; 
misunderstanding  was  constantly  arising.  It  onlj 
youid  have  held  hia  tongue  1 


134  HCHLT/S    CRUSADE. 

But  these  were  mere  surface  troubles,  and  I  often  XD»<V 
gged  to  forget  that  there  was  such  a  person  as  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  in  v  the  world;  and,  in  spite  of  a  few  trifling  draw- 
backs, I  look  back  upon  this  summer  as  one  of  the  happiest 
in  my  life. 

I  was  young  and  healthy,  and  I  perfectly  reveled  in  the 
country  sights  and  sounds  with  which  1  was  surrounded. 
J  hardly  knew  which  1  enjoyed  most — the  long  delicious 
mornings  on  the  beach,  when  I  sat  under  the  break- water 
taking  care  of  Reggie,  or  tlie  afternoons  in  the  orchard, 
with  the  brown  bees  humming  round  the  hives  and  the 
children  playing  with  Fidgets  on  the  grass,  while  the  old 
white  pony  looked  over  the  fence  at  us,  and  the  sheep 
nibbled  at  our  side.  I  used  to  send  Hannah  home  for  an 
hoar  or  two  while  I  watched  over  the  children ;  it  was  hard 
for  her  to  be  so  near  home  and  not  enjoy  Molly's  com- 
pany; and  those  summer  afternoons  were  lazy  times  for  all 
of  us. 

1  think  Miss  Cheriton  added  largely  to  my  happiness. 
i  had  never  had  a  friend  since  my  school-days,  and  it  was 
refreshing  to  me  to  come  in  contact  with  this  bright  young 
creature.  I  was  a  little  too  grave  for  my  age,  and  I  felt 
she  did  me  good. 

I  soon  found  she  resembled  my  mistress  in  one  thing; 
she  was  very  unselfish,  and  thought  more  of  other  people's 
pleasures  than  her  own.  Sha  used  to  say  herself  that  it 
was  only  a  sublime  sort  of  selfishness  that  she  liked  to  see 
wvery  one  happy  round  her.  "  A  gloomy  face  hinders  all 
enjoyment,"  was  her  constant  remark.  But  I  never  knew 
any  one  who  excelled  more  in  little  kindly  acts.  She 
would  bring  me  fruit  or  flowers  almost  daily;  and  when 
she  found  I  was  fond  of  reading,  she  selected  books  for 
me  she  thought  I  should  like. 

When  Mrs.  Markham  did  not  use  the  carriage — a  very 
rare  occasion,  as  she  had  almost  a  monopoly  of  it — she 
Would  take  us  for  long  country  drives,  and  she  would  con- 


135 

trire  all  sorts  of  little  surprises  for  us.  Once  when  tr 
turned  from  a  saunter  in  the  lanes,  we  found  our  tea-tabl8 
laid  in  the  orchard,  and  Miss  Cheriton  presiding,  in,a  gay 
little  hat  trimmed  with  corn-flowers  and  poppies.  There 
was  a  basket  of  flowers  in  the  center  of  the  table,  and  a 
heap  of  red  and  yellow  fruit.  We  had  quite  a  little  feast 
that  evening,  and  all  the  time  we  were  sitting  thers,  there 
were  broods  of  chickens  running  over  the  grass,  that  Gay 
had  enticed  into  the  orchard  to  please  the  children,  and 
gray  rabbits,  and  an  old  lame  duck  that  was  her  pensioner, 
and  went  by  the  name  of  Cackles. 

"  Oh,  auntie,  do  have  another  feast,"  Joyce  would  say 
to  her  almost  daily;  but  Miss  Cheriton  could  not  always 
be  with  us;  visitors  were  very  plentiful  at  Marshlands,  and 
Gay's  company  was  much  courted  by  the  young  people  of 
Netherton  and  Orton-on-Sea. 

I  knew  Mr.  Hawtry  was  a  constant  visitor,  for  we  often 
met  him  in  our  walks;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  face 
was  always  set  in  the  direction  of  Marshlands. 

When  Rolf  was  with  us  he  was  never  allowed  to  pass  with- 
out notice,  and  then  he  would  stop  and  speak  to  the  chil- 
dren, especially  to  Joyce,  who  soon  got  over  her  shyness  with 
him. 

"  Mother  says  Mr.  Hawtry  comes  to  see  Aunt  Gay,"  Rolf 
remarked  once,  when  he  was  out  of  hearing;  'eshe  told 
grandpapa  so  one  day,  and  asked  him  if  it  would  not  be  a 
good  thing;  and  grandpapa  laughed  and  nodded;  you  know 
his  way.  What  did  mother  mean?" 

"  No  doubt  she  meant  that  Mr.  Hawtry  was  a  kind 
friend,"!  returned,  evasively.  How  is  one  to  silence  a 
precocious  child?  But  of  course  it  was  easy  to  understand 
Mrs.  Markham's  hint. 

1  wondered  sometimes  if  Mr.  Hawtry  were  a  favored 
suitor.  He  and  Miss  Cheriton  certainly  seemed  on  thi 
best  of  terms;  she  always  seemed  glad  to  see  him,  but  her 
manner  was  very  frantwifch  hiflw 


1  took  it  into  my  head  that  Gay  had  morf  thin  on*  ad* 
aairer.  I  deduced  this  inference  from  a  slight  opcuromot 
ihnt  ty)ok  place  one  day. 

1  was  on  the  terrace  with  the  children  one  morning 
when  a  young  clergyman  in  a  soft  felt  hat  came  up  the 
avenue.  I  knew  him  at  once  as  the  boyish-faced  curate  at 
!Netherton  Church,  who  had  read  the  service  the  last  two 
Sundays.  I  had  liked  his  voice  and  manner,  they  were  so 
reverent,  but  1  remembered  that  I-  thought  him  very 
young.  He  was  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  man,  and 
though  not  exactly  handsome,  had  a  bright,  pleasant-look- 
ing face. 

Rolf  hailed  him  at  once  as  an  old  acquaintance.  "  Hal- 
looj  Mr.  Rossiter;  it  is  no  use  your  going  on  to  the  house; 
mother  is  not  well,  and  can  not  see  you,  and  Aunt  Gay  is 
with  the  bees/' 

Mr.  Rossiter  seemed  a  little  confused  at  this.  He 
stopped  and  regarded  Rolf  with  some  perplexity. 

"  I  am  sorry  Mrs.  Markham  is  not  well,  but  perhaps  1 
can  see  Mr.  Cheriton." 

"  Oh,  grandpapa  has  gone  to  Orton;  there  is  only  me  at 
home;  you  see,  Miss  Fen  ton  does  not  count.  If  you  want 
Aunt  Gay  I  will  show  you  the  way  to  the  kitchen-garden." 
And  as  Mr.  Rossiter  accepted  this  offer  with  alacrity,  they 
went  off  together. 

We  were  going  down  to  the  beach  that  morning,  and  1 
was  only  waiting  for  Hannah  to  get  the  perambulator 
ready,  but  as  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  and  Rolf  did 
not  make  his  appearance,  Joyce  and  I  went  in  search  of 
him. 

1  found  him  standing  by  the  bee-hives,  talking  to  Miss 
Cheriton  and  Mr.  Rossiter.  They  all  looked  very  happy, 
and  Mr.  Rossiter  was  laughing  at  something  the  boy  had 
laid;  such  a  ringing,  boyish  laugh  it  was. 

When  I  called  Rolf  they  all  looked  round,  and  Mist 
Oheriton  came  f orwaw?  *o  sjjeak  to  me.  I  thought  sbf 


13? 

looked  a  littla  uncomfortable,  and  I  nevbr  saw  her  with 
such  a  color. 

"  Are  you  going  down  to  the  beach?  I  wish  I  could 
come  too,  it  is  such  a  lovely  morning,  but  Mr.  Rossiter 
wants  me  to  go  to  the  schools;  Miss  Parsons,  the  school- 
mistress, is  ill,  and  they  need  help.  It  is  so  tiresome," 
speaking  with  a  pettish,  spoiled-child  air,  turning  to  the 
young  clergyman;  "  Miss  Parsons  always  does  get  ill  at 
inconvenient  times. " 

"  1  know  you  would  not  fail  us  if  it  were  ever  so  incon- 
venient," answered  Mr.  Rossiter,  looking  full  at  her — he 
had  such  nice  clear  eyes;  *'  you  are  far  too  kind  to  desert 
us  in  such  a  strait." 

But  she  made  no  answer  to  this,  and  went  back  to  the 
bee-hive,  and  after  a  moment's  irresolution  Mr.  Rossiter 
followed  her. 

"  Do  you  like  Mr.  Rossiter?"  asked  Rolf,  in  his  blunt 
way,  as  we  walked  down  the  avenue.  "  I  do,  awfully;  he 
is  such  a  brick.  He  plays  cricket  with  me  sometimes,  and 
he  has  promised  to  teach  me  to  swim,  only  mother  won't 
let  him,  in  spite  of  all  grandpapa  says  about  my  being 
brought  up  like  a  girl.  Grandpapa  means  me  to  learn  to 
swim  and  ride,  only  mother  is  so  lightened  ever  since  the 
black  pony  threw  me.  I  am  to  have  a  ^uiater  one  next 
year." 

"  Have  you  known  Mr.  Rossiter  kmgV"  I  asked,  care- 
lessly. 

"  Oh,  pretty  long.  Mother  ain't  bear  him  connng  so 
often  to  the  hou.su;  .she  .says  lie  i>-  so  awkward,  and  then  he 
is  poor.  Mother  doesn't  like  poor  pmpie;  shu  always 
it  is  their  own  fault;  that  they  might  get  on  better.  J)o 
you  know,  Fenny,  Mr.  Rossiter  ha«  only  two  liulf  rooms 
at  Mr.s.  SuiUHtar.sV,  you  kuo-.v  that  low  house  looking  on 
I  he  , .urn  fields;  'luite  poky  little  rooms  they  are,  b- 

r  iiiiil  1  v,  ./at  these       Mother  arfked  him  if  he  did  not 
riint  it  dreadfully  «.i  ,  find   [&   laughed  &ud 


138  MEKLE'S  CKUSADE. 

said,  '  Oh,  dear  no;'  he  had  never 'bedti  more  comforta- 
ble;  the  people  at  Netherton  were  so  kind  and  hospitable; 
and  though  mother  does  not  like  him,  he  comes  just  as 
often  as  though  she  did."  And  I  soon  verified  Rolf's 
words;  Mr.  Rossiter  came  very  often  to  Marshlands. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MOLLY. 

afternoon,  much  to  Hannah's  delight,  I  took  the 
children  to  Wheeler's  Farm.  Rolf  did  not  accompany  us; 
Mrs.  Markham  had  sent  up  word  to  the  nursery  that  morn- 
ing that  he  was  to  drive  with  her  into  Ortou.  He  had 
complied  with  this  order  rather  sulkily,  after  extracting 
from  me  a  promise  that  I  would  play  soldiers  with  him  in 
the  evening. 

It  was  rather  a  hot  July  afternoon,  but  we  put  Joyce  in 
the  perambulator,  and  Hannah  and  I  carried  Reggie  by 
turns;  and  in  spite  of  the  heat  we  all  enjoyed  the  walk, 
and  there  was  a  lark  singing  deliciously  above  the  corn- 
fields, and  the  hedge-rows  of  Cherry  Tree  Lane  were  gay 
with  wild  flowers,  and  every  few  minutes  we  came  to  a 
peep  of  the  sea. 

I  recognized  Hannah's  description  when  we  came  in  sight 
of  the  old  black-timbered  house;  there  was  the  pear-tree  in 
the  court-yard,  and  the  mossy  trough;  a  turkey-cock — 
Gobbler,  of  course — was  strutting  about  in  the  sunny  road, 
and  from  the  farm-yard  came  the  cackling  of  ducks  and  < 
the  hissing  of  snow-white  geese.  Just  then  a  little  side- 
gate  opened,  and  a  robust-looking  woman  in  a  sun-bonnet 
came  out,  balancing  two  pails  of  water  with  her  strong, 
bare  arms.  Hannah  exclaimed,  "  Well,  Molly!"  and 
Molly  set  down  her  pails  and  came  to  meet  us. 

She  kissed  Hannah  heartily  with,  "  Glad  to  set 
and  then  shook  hands  with  me. 

**  Come  !BJ  come  In*  and  bring  the  children  out  of 


130 

•un,"  she  said,  in  a  kind,  cheerful  voice.  "Father  is 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  kitchen,  and  will  be  fine  and  glad 
to  see  you  all.  Eh,  but  I  am  pleased  to  see  you  at 
Wheeler's  Farm,  Miss  Fenton.  Hannah  says  she  has  a 
deal  to  be  grateful  to  you  for,  and  so  have  we  all,  for  be- 
ing good  to  our  girl." 

I  disclaimed  this,  and  sung  Hannah's  praises  all  the 
time  we  were  crossing  the  court-yard  to  the  porch. 

Molly  shook  her  head,  and  said,  "  Nay,  she  is  none  too 
clever,"  but  looked  gratified  all  the  same. 

She  was  a  plain,  homely  looking  woman,  as  Hannah 
said,  with  high  cheek-bones  and  reddish  hair,  but  she 
looked  kindly  at  the  children  and  me,  and  1  think  we  all 
liked  her  directly. 

4<  Look  whom  I  am  bringing,  father!"  she  exclaimed, 
proudly;  and  Michael  Sowerby  put  down  his  pipe  and 
stared  at  us. 

He  was  a  blue-eyed,  ruddy  old  man,  with  beautiful 
snow-white  hair,  much  handsomer  than  his  daughter,  and 
I  was  not  surprised  to  see  Hannah,  in  her  love  and  rever- 
ence, take  the  white  head  between  her  hands  and  kiss  it. 

"  You  will  excuse  our  bad  manners,  I  hope,"  he  said, 
pushing  Hannah  gently  away,  and  getting  up  from  his 
elbow-chair.  "  So  these  are  Squire  Cheriton's  grandchil- 
dren. He  is  fine  and  proud  of  them,  is  the  squire. 
Deary  me,  I  remember  as  if  it  were  yesterday  the  squire 
(he  was  a  young  man  then)  bringing  in  their  mother,  Miss 
Violet,  to  see  me  when  she  wasn't  bigger  than  little  miss 
there,  and  Molly  (mother,  1  mean)  said  she  was  as  beauti- 
ful as  an  angel." 

"  Mother  is  beautifuller  now,"  struck  in  Joyce,  who  had 
been  listening  to  this. 

The  old  farmer  chuckled  and  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Beautifuller,  is  she?  "Well,  she  was  always  like  a  picfr 
ore  to  look  at,  was  Miss  Violet,  a  deal  handsomer  and 
sweeter  than  madame,  as  we  call  her.  Eh,  what  do  you 


HO  MERLE'S  rR 

eay,  my  woman?"   for  Molly  was  nudging  him  at 
point.     "Well,  sit  ye  clown,  all  of  yon,   and  Molly  will 
brew  us  some  tea. " 

"There  is  Luke  crossing  the  farm-yard,"  observed 
Molly,  in  a  peculiar  tone;  and  Hannah  took  the  hint  and 
vanished. 

I  sat  quietly  by  the  window  with  Reggie  on  my  lap,  talk- 
ing to  Michael  Sowerby  and  glancing  between  the  pots  of 
fuchsias  and  geraniums  at  a  brood  of  young  turkeys  that 
had  found  their  way  into  the  court-yard. 

Joyce  was  making  friends  with  a  tabby  cat  and  her  kit- 
tens, while  Molly,  still  in  her  white  sun-bonnet  and  tucked- 
up  sleeves,  set  out  the  tea-table  and  opened  the  oven  door, 
frouj  which  proceeded  a  delicious  smell  of  hot  bread.  She 
buttered  a  pile  of  smoking  cakes  presently,  talking  to  us 
by  snatches,  and  then  went  off  to  the  dairy,  returning  with 
a  great  yellow  jug  of  milk  thick  with  cream,  and  some 
new-laid  eggs  for  the  children. 

I  did  not  wonder  at  Hannah's  love  for  her  home  when  1 
looked  round  the  old  kitchen.  It  was  low,  and  the  rafters 
were  smoke-dried  and  discolored,  but  it  looked  so  bright 
and  cheery  this  hot  July  afternoon,  with  its  red  tiles  and 
well-scrubbed  tables,  and  rocking-chairs  black  with  age 
and  polish.  The  sunshine  stole  in  at  the  open  door,  and 
the  fire  threw  ruddy  reflections  on  the  brass  utensils  and 
bright-colored  china.  A  sick  chicken  in  a  straw  basket 
occupied  the  hearth  with  the  tabby  .cat;  a  large  shaggy  dog 
stretched  himself  across  the  door- way,  and  regarded  us 
from  between  his  paws. 

"It  is  Luke's  dog,  Rover;  he  is  as  sensible  as  a  human 
being,"  observed  Molly;  and  before  we  commenced  tea  she 
fetched  him  a  plate  of  broken  meat  from  the  larder,  her 
hospitality  extending  even  to  the  dumb  creatures. 

A  wooden  screen  shut  us  off  from  the  fire.  From  my 
place  at  the  table  I  had  ^arood  view  of  the  inner  kitchei 


Hi 

and  a  smaller  court-yard  with  a  well  in  it;  a  pleasant 
breeze  came  through  the  open  door. 

As  soon  as  the  children  were  helped,  Hannah  came  back 
looking  rather  shamefaced  but  extremely  happy,  and  fol- 
lowed by  Luke  Armstrong.  He  greeted  us  rather  shyly, 
but  seated  himself  at  Molly's  bidding.  He  was  a  short, 
sturdy-looking  young  fellow,  with  crisp,  curling  hair,  and 
an  honest,  good-tempered  face.  He  seemed  intelligent  and 
well-mannered,  and  I  was  disposed  to  be  pleased  with  Han- 
nah's sweetheart. 

I  found  afterward  from  Molly,  when  she  took  me  into 
the  dairy,  that  Michael  Sowerby  had  consented  to  recognize 
the  engagement,  and  that  it  was  looked  upon  as  a  settled 
thing  in  the  household. 

"  Hannah  is  the  youngest  of  us  girls,  and  a  bit  spoiled,'' 
observed  Molly,  apologetically.  "  I  told  father  it  was  all 
nonsense,  and  Hannah  was  only  a  chit,  but  it  seemed  he 
had  no  mind  to  cross  her.  The  folks  at  Scroggins's  Mill 
is  not  much  to  our  taste,  but  Luke  is  the  best  of  the 
bunch,  and  a  good,  steady  lad,  with  a  head  on  his  shoul- 
ders. He  was  for  going  to  London  to  seek  his  fortune, " 
continued  Molly,  "  for  Miller  Armstrong  is  a  poor  sort  of 
father  to  him,  and  Martin  elbows  him  out  of  all  chances 
of  getting  any  of  the  money;  but  Squire  Hawtry  of  the 
Red  Farm,  where  Lydia  lives  as  dairy-maid,  has  just  lost 
his  head  man,  and  he  offered  Luke  the  place.  That  is 
what  he  had  been  telling  Hannah  this  afternoon  in  the 
farm-yard ;  so  if  Hannah  is  a  good  girl,  as  I  tell  her,  and 
paves  her  bit  of  money,  and  Luke  works  his  best,  Squire 
Hawtry  will  be  letting  them  have  one  of  the  new  cottages 
he  has  built  for  the  farm  servants,  and  a  year  or  two  may 
see  them  settled  in  it  to  begin  life  together."  And  here 
Molly  drew  a  hard,  work-roughened  hand  across  her  <>yes, 
*:i  though  her  own  words  touched  her, 

"1  am  very  glad  for  Hannah's,  sake/'  I  returned 
is  u  ^<>od  girl,  arid  ctame?  to  be  happy/* 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

"  Ah,  they  are  all  good  girls/5  replied  Molly.  "  Han- 
nah  is  no  better  than  the  rest,  though  we  have  a  bit  spoiled 
her,  being  the  youngest,  and  mother  dead.  There's  Mar- 
tin at  Seroggins's  Mill  wants  Lydia,  but  Lyddy  is  too  sen- 
sible to  be  listening  to  the  likes  of  him.  *  No,  no> 
Lyddy,'  I  say,  *  whatever  you  do,  never  marry  a  man 
who  makes  an  idol  of  his  money;  he  will  love  his  guineas 
more  than  his  wife;  better  be  doing  work  all  your  life  and 
die  single,  as  I  shall,  than  be  mistress  of  Scroggins's  Mill 
if  Martin  is  to  be  master.'  " 

"  You  give  your  sisters  very  good  advice/'  I  returned. 

"  I  have  not  much  else  to  give  them/'  was  the  abrupt 
answer;  "  but  they  are  good  girls,  and  know  I  mean  well. 
The  boys  are  rather  a  handful,  especially  Dan,  who  is  al- 
ways bird-catching  on  Sunday,  and  won't  see  the  sin  of  it. 
But  there,  one  must  take  boys  as  one  finds  them,  and  not 
put  ourselves  in  the  place  of  ^Providence.  They  want  a 
deal  of  patienco,  and  patience  is  not  in  my  nature,  and  if 
Ban  comes  to  a  bad  end  with  his  lame  leg  and  bird-traps, 
nobody  must  blame  me,  who  has  always  a  scolding  ready 
for  him  if  he  will  take  it." 

1  saw  Dan  presently  under  rather  disadvantageous  cir- 
cumstances, for  as  we  came  out  of  the  dairy  who  should 
come  riding  under  the  great  pear-tree  but  Mr.  Hawtry, 
with  a  red-headed  boy  sitting  behind  him,  with  a  pair  of 
dirty  hands  grasping  his  coat.  I  never  saw  such  a  freckled 
face  nor  such  red  hair  in  my  life,  and  he  looked  at  Molly 
BO  roguishly  from  under  Mr.  Haw  try's  shoulder,  there  was 
no  mistaking  that  this  was  the  family  scapegrace. 

"  Good-evening,  Molly,"  called  out  Mr.  Hawtry,  cheer- 
fully; "  I  am  carrying  home  Dan  in  pillion  fashion,  be- 
cause the  rogue  has,  dropped  his  crutch  into  the  mill-dam, 
and  he  could  not  manage  with  the  other.  I  found  him  in 
difficulties,  sitting  under  the  mill  hedge,  very  tired  and 
hungry.  You  will  lat  him  have  his  tea,  Molly,  as  it  was 
accident,  and  not  mischief.  I  forgot  to  say  the  other 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  143 

crutch  is  lying  in  the  road  broken;  it  broke  itself — didn't 
it,  Dan?—in  its  attempt  to  get  him  home;"  and  here  Mr. 
Hawtry's  eyes  twinkled,  but  he  could  not  be  induced, 
neither  could  Dan,  to  explain  the  mystery  of  the  broken 
crutch. 

"  You  will  come  to  a  bad  end,  Dan/'  remarked  Molly, 
severely,  as  she  lifted  down  the  boy,  not  overgently;  but 
she  forbore  to  shake  him,  as  he  was  wholly  in  her  power— 
a  piece  of  magnanimity  ou  Molly's  part. 

Mr.  Hawtry  dismounted,  perhaps  to  see  that  Dan  had 
merciful  treatment;  but  he  need  not  have  been  afraid, 
Molly  had  too  large  a  heart  to  be  hard  on  a  crippled  boy, 
and  one  who  was  her  special  torment  and  pet.  Molly 
could  not  have  starved  a  dog,  arid  certainly  not  red-headed 
Dan. 

He  was  soon  established  in  his  special  chair,  with  a  thick 
wedge  of  cold  buttered  cake  in  his  hand.  Scolding  did  not 
hurt  as  long  as  Molly  saw  to  his  comforts,  and  Dan  looked 
as  happy  as  a  king,  in  spita  of  his  lost  crutches. 

Mr.  Hawtry  came  into  the  kitchen,  and  when  he  saw  us 
I  thought  he  started  a  little  as  though  he  were  surprised, 
and  he  came  up  to  me  at  once. 

4'  Good-evening,  Miss  Fenton;  I  did  not  expect  to  see 
you  here,  and  my  little  friend,  too,"  as  Joyce  as  usual  ran 
up  to  him.  "  What  a  lovely  evening  you  have  for  your 
walk  home!  You  did  not  bring  Miss  Cheriton  with  you?" 

"  No;  she  has  visitors  this  afternoon;  the  children  and  I 
have  had  our  tea  here,  and  now  it  is  Reggie's  bed-time/' 

"  Shall  I  call  Hannah?"  he  returned,  hastily,  for  I  was 
putting  Reggie  in  his  perambulator.  "  I  saw  her  walking 
down  the  orchard  with  Luke  Armstrong  and  Matthew." 
And  as  I  thanked  him  he  bade  Molly  good-bye,  and,  put- 
ting his  arm  through  his  horse's  bridle,  in  another  moment 
we  could  hear  a  clear  whistle. 

Hannah  came  at  once;  she  looked  happy  and  rosy,  and 
whispered  to  Molly  aa  we  went  down  the  court-yard  to- 


MERLES 

gether.  Mr.  Hawtry  was  at  the  horse-block;  as  he  mount- 
ed he  called  me  by  name,  and  asked  if  the  little  girl  would 
like  a  ride. 

I  knew  he  would  be  careful,  but  all  the  same  I  longed 
to  refuse,  only  Joyce  looked  disappointed  and  ready  to  cry. 

"  Oh,  nurse,  do  let  me!"  she  implored,  in  such  a  coax- 
ing voice. 

"  My  horse  is  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  You  may  safely  trust 
her,  Miss  Fenton,"  he  said  so  persuasively  I  let  myself  be 
overruled.  It  was  very  pretty  to  see  Joyce  as  he  held  her 
before  him  and  rode  down  the  lane.  She  had  such  a  nice 
color,  and  her  eyes  were  bright  and  sparkling  as  she 
laughed  back  at  me. 

It  was  very  kind  of  Mr.  Hawtry.  It  seemed  to  me  he 
never  lost  any  opportunity  of  giving  children  pleasure. 
But  I  was  glad  when  the  ride  ended  and  1  lifted  Joyce  to 
the  ground. 

She  clasped  nie  tightly  in  her  glee.  "  It  was  so  nice,  so 
werry  nice,  nursey  dear!"  she  exclaimed. 

As  I  looked  up  and  thanked  Mr.  Hawtry,  I  found  that 
he  was  watching  us,  smiling. 

" 1  am  afraid  your  faith  was  not  equal  to  Joyce's/'  he 
said,  rather  mischievously.  "  I  would  not  let  Peter  can- 
ter, out  of  pity  for  your  fears." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  stammered,  rather  distressed  by 
this,  "  but  I  can  not  help  being  afraid  of  everything.  You 
see  the  children  are  intrusted  to  me. " 

"  I  was  only  joking,"  he  returned,  and  he  spoke  so 
gently.  "  You  are  quite  right,  and  one  can  not  be  too 
careful  over  children;  but  I  knew  1  could  trust  old  Peter;" 
and  then  he  lifted  his  hat  and  cantered  down  the  lane. 
He  could  not  have  spoken  more  courteously;  his  manner 
pleased  me. 

It  caused  me  a  little  revulsion  when  Mrs.  Markham  met 
as  at  the  gate  with  a  displeased  countenance.  She  mo* 


MEKLE'S  CRUSADE.  145 

tioned  to  Hannah  to  take  the  children  to  thw  house,  and 
detained  me  with  a  haughty  gesture. 

4<  Nurse/'  she  said,  harshly,  4f  I  am  extremely  surprised 
at  the  liberty  you  take  in  my  sister's  absence.  I  am  quite 
sure  she  would  be  excessively  angry  at  your  taking  the 
children  to  Wheeler's  Farm  without  even  informing  me  of 
your  intention." 

**  1  mentioned  it  to  Miss  Cberiton,"  I  returned,  some- 
what nettled  at  this,  for  Gay  had  warmly  approved  of  our 
little  excursion. 

"  Miss  Cheriton  is  not  the  mistress  of  the  house,"  she 
replied,  in  the  same  galling  tone.  "  If  you  had  consulted 
me,  1  should  certainly  not  have  given  my  consent.  I  think 
a  servant's  relatives  are  not  proper  companions  for  my  lit- 
tle niece,  and,  indeed,  I  rather  wonder  at  your  choosing  to 
associate  with  them  yourself,"  with  a  concealed  sneer  hid- 
den under  a  polished  manner. 

"  Mrs.  Markham,"  I  returned,  speaking  as  quietly  as  I 
could,  "  I  should  certainly  not  have  taken  the  children  to 
Wheeler's  Farm  without  my  mistress's  sanction.  I  had 
her  free  permission  to  do  so;  she  knew  the  Sowerbys  were 
highly  respectable,  and,  for  my  own  part,  1  wished  to  give 
pleasure  to  Hannah,  as  I  take  a  great  interest  in  her. " 

"I  shall  certainly  write  to  my  sister  on  the  subject," 
was  her  answer  to  this.  '*  You  must  have  entirely  mis- 
taken her  meaning,  and  I  owe  it  to  her  to  watch  over  her 
children." 

My  temper  was  decidedly  rising. 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself,"  I  replied,  coldly; 
"  my  mistress  knows  everything  1  do.  I  should  have  writ- 
ten to  her  myself  to-night;  she  has  perfect  confidence  in 
me,  and  1  have  never  acted  against  her  wishes;  my  con- 
science is  quite  clear  about  this  afternoon,  but  1  should  not 
have  taken  Rolf  without  your  permission." 

"  1  should  hope  not,"  still  more  haughtily;  but  I  would 
not  listen  to  any  more:;  I  was  not  ker  servant — I  could  not 


146  MERLF/S    ufttTSADB. 

have  served  that  hard  mistress.  1  found  nothing  to  rever- 
ence  in  her  cold,  self-absorbed  nature,  and  without  rever- 
ence, service  would  be  bitter  drudgery. 

As  I  passed  down  the  avenue  a  little  sadly,  I  came  upon 
a  pretty  scene:  a  tea-table  had  been  set  under  one  of  the 
elms,  and  Gay  had  evidently  been  presiding  over  it;  but 
the  feast  had  been  long  over.  She  was  standing  by  the. 
table  now,  crumbling  sweet  cakes  for  the  peacock.  Lion 
was  sitting  on  his  haunches  watching  her,  and  Fidgets  was 
barking  furiously,  and  a  little  behind  her  stood  Mr.  Kos- 
siter. 

Mrs.  Markham  swept  up  to  them,  and  I  could  hear  her 
say,  in  a  frosty  voice  that  showed  evident  ill  -  temper: 
"  "Why  has  not  Benson  removed  the  things?  It  is  nearly 
seven,  and  we  must  go  in  to  dress  for  dinner;  you  know 
Mr.  Hawtry  is  coming/' 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it,  Adelaide  " — how  well  1  knew 
that  careless  voice! — "  but  it  is  of  no  consequence,  that  1 
can  see;  Mr.  Hawtry  is  always  here/' 

"He.  can  not  come  too  often,"  in  a  pointed  manner. 
"  We  all  think  highly  of  Mr.  Hawtry,  I  know.  Oh,  are 
you  going,  Mr.  Rossiter?  Well,  perhaps  it  is  rather  late. 
What  are  you  doing,  Gay?"  so  sharply  that  though  1  had 
reached  the  house  I  heard  her,  and  turned  my  head  to 
look. 

Benson  and  the  under-footman  were  coming  out  of  the 
side  door,  but  Mrs.  Markham  stood  alone  under  the  trees. 
Gay  was  sauntering  down  the  avenue  with  the  young  cu- 
rate still  at  her  side,  and  Lion  was  following  them,  and  I 
wondered  if  Mrs.  Markham  saw  her  stop  and  pick  that 
rose. 

I  went  up  to  the  nursery  rather  thoughtfully  after  that. 

I  knew  girls  were  odd  and  contrary  sometimes.     Mr.  Eos- 

giter  was  very  nice;  he  was  a  good,  earnest  young  man, 

and  I  liked  his  sermons;  but  was  it  possible  that  Gay  could 

ugly  prefer  him  to  Mr.  Hawtry?  or  was  she  just  flirting 


MERLE'S  CRCTSADE.  147 

with  him  pour  passer  le  temps,  after  that  odious  custom  of 
some  girls?  But  I  could  not  believe  it  somehow  of  Gay 
Cheritou;  she  was  so  simple,  so  unselfish,  so  free  from 
vanity.  It  needed  a  coarser  nature  than  hers  to  play  this 
sort  of  unfeeling  game.  "  We  shall  see/'  I  said  to  myself  > 
as  I  put  Reggie  into  his  cot;  and  then  I  sat  down  and 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Morton. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

A   PLEASANT   SURPRISE. 

THE  next  day  I  had  a  delicious  surprise. 

We  were  sitting  in  the  orchard  before  the  children's  din- 
ner; they  had  taken  their  noonday  sleep  early,  and  I  had 
brought  them  out  again. 

We  were  all  huddled  together  on  a  little  grass  hillock, 
for  I  was  telling  Rolf  and  Joyce  a  story;  Reggie  was  talk- 
ing to  the  flowers  he  had  gathered.  He  had  quite  a  little 
language  of  his  own  to  supplement  his  scanty  stock  of 
words.  1  heard  "  gurgle-da  "  very  often,  so  1  knew  he 
was  happy,  my  bonny  boy,  whom  I  loved  better  every 
day.  All  at  once  I  looked  up,  and  there  was  my  beloved 
mistress  standing  by  the  little  white  gate  watching  us,  and 
she  looked  so  pale  and  lovely,  with  the  sun  shining  upon 
her  brown  hair  i;hat  a  curious  fear  crossed  me  that  she 
was  too  good  and  beautiful  to  live.  Why  do  we  always  say 
that,  as  though  things  of  '  eauty  were  rare  upon  earth? 

"Run,  darlings,  there  is  mother!"  1  exclaimed;  and 
Joyce  gave  quite  a  shout  of  joy  as  she  raced  down  the 
orchard.  It  was  pretty  to  see  Reggie  following  her  as  fast 
as  his  fat  legs  could  carry  him.  He  fell  down,  but  picked 
himself  up,  still  holding  his  flowers,  and  then  thrust  them 
in  his  mother's  face  as  she  stooped  to  kiss  him.  I  detained 
Rolf  by  me  until  Mrs.  Morton  had  greeted  her  little  ones, 
but  she  soon  came  up  to  us,  holding  out  her  hand  to  me 
with  such  a  kind  look. 


148 

"  How  are  you,  Merle?  But  I  need  not  ask;  yon  are 
almost  as  rosy  as  the  children.  How  fat  and  well  they 
look!  Reggie  is  lovelier  than  ever,  and  as  for  Joyce  "' — 
and  she  could  hardly  turn  her  attention  to  Rolf,  who  was 
regarding  her  with  great  curiosity. 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  were  rosy  too,  Aunt  Violet?'*  he 
asked,  as  she  kissed  him. 

I  thought  she  smiled  a  little  sadly  as  she  answered : 

"  My  rosy-cheeked  days  are  over,  Rolf  dear;  1  would 
rather  thevchildren  had  them.  Oh,  I  am  so  pleased  to  see 
the  improvement  in  my  little  Joyce,  Merle;  she  looks  a 
different  creature.  You  told  me  so,  of  course,  but  I 
wanted  to  see  her  with  my  own  eyes.  You  have  been  so 
good  to  them  all  this  time;  oh,  I  know  that." 

She  sat  down  beside  me  on  the  hillock,  and  lifted  Reggie 
on  her  lap,  and  Joyce  nestled  close  to  her. 

"Is  it  not.  good  of  my  husband,  Merle,  to  bring  me 
down  here  just  for  a  few  hours  to  see  my  children?  1 
asked  him  last  night  if  he  could  spare  me,  and  he  promised 
that  we  should  come  together.  We  are  going  to  Scotland 
to-morrow  by  the  night  mail,  and  1  could  not  have  gone 
happily  without  seeing  my  darlings." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  going,  Mrs.  Morton;  you  are  not 
looking  well;"  for  she  had  grown  very  thin  during  these 
five  weeks,  and  there  was  an  air  of  delicacy  about  her  that 
I  did  not  like  to  see.  "It  is  quite  time  you  should  have 
some  rest. " 

She  looked  a  little  amused  at  that. 

**  That  is  the  last  thing  I  shall  get  in  Scotland.  If  we 
were  going  alone,  my  husband  and  I,  there  might  be  some 
probability  of  getting  a  little  time  to  one's  self,  but  we  are 
to  stay  with  the  Egertons.  They  are  very  gay  people,  and 
have  a  large  party  for  the  shooting  season.  Lady  Flor- 
ence Egerton  is  one  of  the  most  incessant  talkers  I  know/' 

1  did  not  like  to  hear  this.    If  only  she  could  have  stayed 


MEHLR'S  CRUSADE.  149 

in  this  sweet  place,  among  her  own  people,  she  would  have 
been  rested  and  refreshed. 

She  echoed  my  sigh  merrily,  for  she  seemed  in  excellent 
spirits. 

"  Don't  be  so  anxious  about  me,  my  good  Merle.  I 
have  the  best  husband  in  the  world  to  take  care  of  me,  if  I 
do  fall  ill,  which  is  very  unlikely/5 

Oh,  the  blindness  of  an  affectionate  woman  when  her 
husband  is  concerned! 

"  I  think  I  am  very  fortunate  to  be  able  to  leave  iny 
children  so  comfortably.  You  are  a  tower  of  strength  to 
me,  Merle.  Now  you  will  be  quite  happy  to  remain  here 
for  another  month  or  six  weeks,  until  we  come  back  i'rom 
Scotland?"  looking  at  me  rather  wistfully. 

"  Qiiite  happy,"  1  returned,  frankly,  "  if  only  I  could 
give  Mrs.  Markham  satisfaction,  which  I  always  fail  to 
do;"  for  Eolf,  finding  us  dull  company,  had  decoyed 
Joyce  down  the  orchard  to  hunt  for  a  gray  rabbit  they  had 
lost,  and  I  could  speak  without  reservation. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it/"  she  said,  gently.  "  I  am  going 
to  talk  to  Adelaide,  but  I  should  like  your  version  first." 

Oh,  the  comfort  of  pouring  out  all  my  little  grievances 
and  worries  into  my  mistress's  attentive  ear!  She  listened 
with  such  patience,  and  though  she  said  little,  one  was  so 
sure  with  whom  lay  her  sympathy. 

"  We  must  be  very  careful,  Merle.  No,  I  am  not  blaming 
you,  you  have  done  nothing  wrong;  but  Adelaide,  as  mis- 
tress of  my  father's  house,  needs  a  certain  amount  of  con- 
sideration from  us.  If  she  wishes  you  to  consult  her  about 
the  children's  walks  and  drives,  1  suppose  we  must  give  in, 
for  the  sake  of  peace;  but  do  not  permit  any  interference 
in  the  actual  management  of  the  children ;  use  a  little  tact 
when  you  have  to  contest  an  order  you  feel  is  not  judi- 
cious. Do  not  worry  yourself  if  she  blames  you  unjustly, 
whatever  Adelaide  thinks  of  you,  you  are  right  in  my  eyes. 
I  will  tell  her  myself  that  1  have  no  objection  to  your  tak- 


150  MERLE'S  CBTTSADE. 

ing  the  children  to  Wheeler's  Fair.  Molly  is  as  good  a 
creature  as  ever  lived,  and  1  remember  how  my  father  used 
to  take  me  when  the  other  Molly,  Hannah's  mother,  wag 
alwe,  and  what  a  treat  it  was  to  my  childish  eyes  to  see 
her  skim  the  cream  in  those  great  yellow  pans  in  the> 
dairy/' 

We  sat  talking  in  this  way  for  some  time,  and  then  Mr. 
Morton  and  Mrs.  Markham  joined  us.  I  thought  she 
looked  a  little  taken  aback  when  he  came  up  to  me  and 
frankly  shook  hands.  He  had  never  done  so  before,  but  1 
had  noticed  lately  a  growing  interest  and  cordiality  in  his 
manner  to  me.  He  was  a  cautious  man,  who  never  let 
enthusiasm  run  away  with  him.  He  would  sift  a  person 
thoroughly  before  he  manifested  any  degree  of  liking; 
neither  would  he  indorse  his  wife's  opinion  of  me  until  I 
had  proven  myself  worthy  of  his  respect. 

It  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  address  me  as  Miss  Fenton, 
and  praise  the  children's  looks.  He  stood  talking  to  me 
apart  for  some  minutes,  much  to  Mrs.  Markham's 
chagrin.  No  doubt  she  had  armed  herself  with  a  list  of 
grievances,  and  was  highly  displeased  to  find  that  I  stood 
so  high  in  my  employer's  favor.  Prejudice  is  always  hard 
to  overcome,  and  Mrs.  Markham  was  strongly  prejudiced 
against  niy  humble  self;  but  when  I  remembered  Uncle 
Keith,  and  my  girlish  distaste  for  him,  I  was  ready  to 
admit  that  I  deserved  some  sort  of  punishment. 

We  had  a  delightful  afternoon  on  the  beach.  My  dear 
mistress  accompanied  us,  and  shortly  afterward  Miss  Cheri- 
ton  and  Mr.  Morton  made  their  appearance,  accompanied 
by  Mr.  Hawtry.  He  had  ridden  up  to  Marshlands  on 
business,  and  had  been  decoyed  into  an  hour's  idleness. 

What  a  pleasant  time  we  had! 

Mrs.  Morton  and  I  sat  under  the  break-water,  watching 
the  children  help  their  father  as  he  built  up  a  mighty  sand 
fortress.  To  our  great  amusement,  Mr.  Hawtry  worked 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  151 

too,  while  Gay  assisted  R«ggie  to  fill  his  bucket  with 
smooth  white  pebbles  for  the  ramparts. 

"  Isn't  Alick  ridiculously  busy?"  laughed  Gay,  as  she 
passed.  '*  I  do  believe  he  is  quite  happy  to  find  a  spade  in 
his  hand  again.  And  do  look  at  Farmer  Roger/'  for  she 
sometimes  naughtily  called  him  by  that  name;  "  he  is 
working  as  hard  as  though  he  were  among  his  hay- 
makers." 

1  wonder  if  Mr.  Hawtry  heard  her,  for  he  threw  down 
his  spade  and  came  up  to  us  with  a  droll,  ashamed  sort  of 
look. 

"  I  believe  I  am  half  a  child  still/'  he  said,  throwing 
himself  down  on  the  sand.  "  I  have  often  envied  the  lit- 
tle rogues  digging  their  trenches;  they  do  seem  to  believe 
in  their  own  work.  You  are  'laughing  at  me,  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton, but  your  own  husband  is  just  as  bad." 

"  If  you  knew  how  glad  I  am  to  see  him  with  the  chil- 
dren!" she  returned,  with  a  sort  of  misty  smile.  "1  do 
not  think  grown-up  people's  play  half  so  sensible.  I  know 
Miss  Fenton  agrees  with  me,  do  you  not,  Merle?" 

It  was  nice  of  her  to  draw  me  into  the  conversation. 

I  saw  Mr.  Hawtry  looking  at  me  inquiringly,  and  I  said, 
quietly:  *'  I  think  the  best  people  are  those  who  never  out- 
grow their  childhood.  We  are  apt  to  laugh  at  children," 
I  went  on,  for  my  mistress  was  near  me,  and  1  was  talking 
to  her  more  than  to  Mr.  Hawtry, .' '  and  yet  their  perfect 
faith  teaches  us  many  lessons;  they  have  to  contend  with 
so  great  a  difficulty." 

"  What  special  difficulty  do  you  mean,  Miss  Fenton?" 

"  The  difficulty  of  expression;  their  language  does  not 
allow  of  full  expression;  their  wonder  bubbles  over,  but 
they  find  no  word  to  convey  their  wonderment." 

"  Miss  Fenton  is  a  philosopher,"  observed  my  mistress, 
softly.  "  We  often  talk  about  these  things,  Roger  "  (sh« 
called  him  Roger  quite  as  a  matter  of  course);  **  thinking 
aloud  is  very  pleasant  in  company  sometimes. " 


152  .      HEELERS    CBUSADK. 

"  Miss  Fenton  seems  to  think  to  some  purpose/*  inteiv 
posed  Mr.  Hawtry.  1  thought  he  seemed  a  little  amused. 
4<  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if  she  could  teach  other  young 
ladies  to  be  as  unconventional  and  useful." 

I  found  this  speech  a  little  embarrassing.  He  evidently 
knew  all  about  my  theory,  and  his  words  seemed  to  imply 
perfect  approval  of  it,  but  I  was  not  sufficiently  at  my  ease 
to  meet  his  meaning  half-way;  on  the  contrary,  I  was 
rather  provoked  at  his  breaking  in  on  our  conversation.  I 
made  an  excuse,  and  went  down  to  the  margin  of  the 
water,  where  Miss  Cheriton  and  Reggie  were  playing  touch* 
last  with  the  wa'ves,  and  there  we  stayed  until  Mr.  Morton 
looked  at  his  watch  and  gave  the  signal  for  our  return, 
and  then  we  all  went  home  together. 

On  our  way  Miss  Cheriton  took  me  by  the  arm,  and 
said,  merrily:  "  We  art  all  going  to  have  a  nursery  tea  this 
evening.  Alick  and  Mr.  Hawtry  are  both  coming  up. 
Don't  you  think  you  had  better  hurry  home  to  prepare  for 
us,  Merle?"  for  she  always  called  me  Merle  now. 

I  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  leaving  Joyce  in  her 
care,  very  quickly  overtook  Hannah,  and  with  Susan's  help 
we  had  soon  arranged  the  tea-table. 

I  think  every  one  enjoyed  themselves;  they  would  insist 
on  crowding  round  the  tea-table,  though  it  would  hardly 
hold  them,  and  Mr.  Morton  teased  his  wife  about  an  inci- 
dent in  her  childish  days,  when  she  had  quarreled  with 
Adelaide  about  some  strawberry  jam  at  this  very  table. 

"I  do  love  this  old  nursery,  Alick,"  she  returned, 
plaintively.  "  It  is  a  treat  even  to  drink  out  of  the  old 
blue  cups  again.  Nurse  Parfitt  used  to  be  so  proud  of  the 
old  blue  china."  And  after  tea  she  took  her  husband  to 
see  the  cot  where  she  and  Gay  had  slept  when  they  were 
tiny  children,  and  we  could  hear  them  laughing  together 
over  the  priiiti  in  the  little  blauk  frames.  1  had  to  fetch 
something  for  Reggie,  :m«"l  i  found  them  standing  hand  in 
before  iho  ".Fivs  ^naus.'''  I  think  she  was  telling 


153 

him  something  that  touched  him,  for  he  was  looking  won- 
derfully interested,  but  there  was  a  sort  of  pain  in  his 
jfece  too, 

Mr.  Hawtry  was  on  the  window-seat  with  Reggie,  and 
his  horse  was  at  the  door. 

"  Thank  y on  for  a  very  pleasant  hour,  Miss  Fenton," 
he  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  "1  think  we  are  all  the 
better  for  an  afternoon  with  the  children/'  And  then  he 
and  Mr.  Morton  went  away. 

My  dear  mistress  took  leave  of  us  soon  after  that,  for 
they  were  going  back  to  town  that  evening.  I  could  see 
her  heart  was  full  as  she  bade  the  children  good-bye,  but 
she  was  very  brave,  and  smiled  at  us  to  the  last. 

Gay  came  up  to  us  by  and  by.  She  said  her  father  and 
Adelaide  were  dining  out,  and  she  meant  to  spend  the  even- 
ing with  us.  1  thought  she  looked  just  a  trifle  dull,  as 
though  something  had  gone  wrong  since  tea.  I  wondered 
if  she  were  sorry  to  have  missed  Mr.  Rossi ter,  who,  we 
heard  had  called  that  afternoon. 

She  sat  by  me  very  quietly  as  I  undressed  Reggie,  and 
listened  to  Joyce's  prayers,  but  when  the  children  were  in 
bed  she  asked  me  to  come  with  her  into  the  garden,  as  it 
was  a  sultry  evening.  Hannah  and  Rolf  were  cutting  out 
pictures  to  paste  in  the  scrap-book,  and  I  knew  1  could 
safely  trust  them,  and  might  indulge  in  an  hour  a  enjoy- 
ment. 

It  was  just  after  sunset,  and  Gay  proposed  that  we 
should  go  down  to  our  favorite  seat  in  the  orchard — "  that 
is  if  you  are  not  afraid  of  the  dews,  Merle/' she  added; 
"  but  there  is  such  a  pretty  peep  of  the  corn-fields  from 
there,  and  if  the  moon  rises  early  the  effect  is  beautiful." 
1  was  too  young  and  strong  to  be  afraid  of  anything;  so  we 
speedily  found  our  way  to  the  orchard,  followed,  as  usual, 
by  Lion  and  Fidgets. 

The  sky  was  warm  with  that  pink  afterglow  that  follows 
the  setting  sun,  and  the  evening  star  was  glittering  near 


154  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

the  edge  of  a  tiny  cloud.  There  was  an  indescribable  huafe 
and  stillness  over  everything,  as  though  nature  were  tak- 
ing sweet  rest,  and  her  dreams  were  pleasant.  All  sorts 
of  faint  scents  caine  to  us  from  flowers  and  odoriferous 
shrubs  and  hedge-rows;  far  off  we  could  hear  the  hollow- 
boom  of  the  waves  upon  the  shore.  " 

Gay  was  very  silent  at  first;  she  sat  stroking  Lion's  head 
with  an  unusually  abstracted  air,  and  then  suddenly  roused 
np  and  began  to  talk. 

44~  Merle,  are  you  very  much  afraid  of  people's  opinions? 
I  mean,  do  you  let  yourself  be  influenced  by  them?" 

44 1  am  afraid  not/'  1  returned,  rather  surprised  at  this 
beginning;  "  I  should  hardly  be  in  my  present  position, 
Miss  Gay,  if  I  had  minded  very  much  what  my  little  world 
said  of  me." 

"  I  wish  I  were  like  you,"  she  sighed.  "You  are  so 
strong  and  brave;  you  carve  your  own  way  through  life  so 
cleverly.  I  never  knew  I  was  such  a  coward  until  now.  I 
do  mind  Adelaide's  sneers  so  dreadfully.  Oh!  she  can  say 
such  bitter  things;  and  then,  1  should  hate  to  disappoint 
father." 

This  was  very  ambiguous,  and  I  waited  to  hear  more* 
She  began  again  presently. 

"  Merle,  should  you  not  think  I  was  a  very  unfit  person 
to  be  a  poor  man's  wife?  How  astonished  you  look!  But 
one  must  talk  of  such  things  sometimes,  and  I  never  speak 
on  these  subjects  to  Adelaide.  Suppose  I  am  not  a  bit  in 
earnest,  and  am  only  talking  for  the  sake  of  argument, 
still,  you  might  give  me  your  opinion." 

44 1 -hardly  know,  Miss  Gay,"  I  replied;  for  this  was 
quite  a  problem  to  me,  and  how  are  we  short-sighted  mor- 
tals to  judge  of  any  human  being's  possibilities?  "  \ou 
seem  to  me  to  fit  your  present  life  exactly;  you  wear  your 
existence  as  lightly  as  a  glove;  your  surroundings  suit  you 
as  much  as  you  suit  them." 

44  "You  are  quite  righta  Merle;  _no  one  could  be  happier.  * 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  155 

"  I  should  think  in  any  change  of  lot  you  must  suffer 
loss/'  I  continued,  trying  to  puzzle  it  out — "  unless/' 
hesitating,  "  you  became  mistress  of  a  house  like  Marsh- 
lands: a  house  where  there  would  be  plenty  and  comfort, 
horses  to  ride  and  dumb  animals  to  pet,  and  a  master  who 
would  let  you  do  as  you  like/'  1  did  not  dare  to  make 
my  meaning  more  plain,  but,  of  course,  she  guessed  at 
once  that  I  was  alluding  to  the  Red  Farm  and  Mr.  Haw- 
try,  for  she  colored  very  much. 

"Oh,  but  1  know  of  no  such  place  where  I  could  be 
happy,  Merle/'  she  said,  lifting  her  head  a  little,  and  her 
face  was  full  of  delicate  scorn.  "  There  may  be  corn  and 
oil,  and  plenty  of  fat  kine  in.  Egypt,  but  one  may  not  want 
to  go  to  Egypt  after  all;"  and  then  I  understood  that  Mr. 
Hawtry  was  not  in  her  thoughts.  "But  all  the  same  I 
should  hate  to  be  poor/'  she  continued,  petulantly. 
"Fancy  saying  good-bye  to  Bonnie — my  own  dear 
Bonnie — and  having  to  live  in  a  shabby  little  house  with 
a  few  feet  of  ground  for  a  garden,  and  to  trim  one's  own 
hats,  with  a  new  gown  about  once  a  year. " 

"  1  do  not  think  you  would  care  for  your  environment, 
Miss  Gay."  And  I  added,  wickedly,  not  meaning  it  in 
the  least.  "  No  man,  however  good,  would  be  worth  such 
a  sacrifice. " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  she  returned,  abruptly. 
"  I  suppose  if  one  loved  a  person,  one  could  be  capable  of 
sacrifice,  but  it  must  be  the  real  thing,  and  no  mistake 
about  it;  and  how  is  one  to  be  sure?"  And  then  she  gave 
herself  a  little  shake  and  changed  the  subject;  but  all  the 
same  1  could  see  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  stooped 
to  pat  Lion. 

CHAPTER  XVI1L 

THE   RED   FARM, 

I  PERCEIVED  a  great  change  in  Mrs.  Markham  after  my 
mistress's  visit,  She  took  less  notice  of  the  children,  sent 


156 

fewer  messages  to  the  nursery,  ceased  to  interfere  in  the 
nursery  arrangements,  and  often  ignored  my  presence  if 
she  chanced  to  meet  me  in  the  hall  or  garden.  Her  man- 
ner convinced  me  that  she  was  deeply  offended  by  her  sis- 
ter's patronage  of  me.  Very  probably  Mr.  Morton  had 
spoken  a  few  forcible  words  in  my  defense.  They  made 
her  understand  that  they  trusted  me  implicitly,  and  that 
any  interference  in  my  department  would  be  displeasing  to 
them.  It  was  easy  to  read  this  from  her  averted  looks. 

Now  and  then  I  heard  a  word  or  two  about  "  Violet," 
"  ridiculous  infatuation/'  when  I  passed  the  open  draw- 
ing-room door.  Rolf  once  asked  me  curiously  why  his 
mother  disliked  me  so.  "  You  arenV  so  very  wicked,  are 
you,  Fenny?  Is  it  very  wicked  to  be  stuck  up?  Mother 
is  so  fond  of  using  that  word,  you  know. " 

I  tried  not  to  listen  to  Rolf.  I  could  afford  to  be  mag- 
nanimous, for  I  was  very  happy  just  then.  Gay's  par- 
tiality for  me  was  evident,  and  I  soon  conceived  the  warm- 
est attachment  for  her.  She  seized  every  opportunity  of 
running  up  to  the  nursery  for  a  few  minutes'  chat,  and 
she  often  joined  us  on  the  beach.  One  afternoon  she  asked 
to  accompany  us  in  a  country  ramble.  Hannah  had  gone 
to  Wheeler's  Farm  to  have  tea  with  Molly,  and  Luke  was 
to  walk  home  with  her  in  the  evening.  I  thought  how 
they  would  enjoy  that  walk  through  the  corn-fields  and 
down  the  dim,  scented  lanes.  Life  would  look  as  sweet  to 
them  as  to  richer  lovers;  youth  and  health  and  love  being 
the  threefold  cord  that  can  not  lightly  be  broken.  Gay 
made  the  excuse  that  she  would  be  useful  in  taking  care-  of 
Joyce  while  1  wheeled  Reggie  in  his  perambulator;  I  over- 
heard her  saying  this  to  Mrs.  Markham,  but  her  speech 
only  elicited  a  scornful  reply. 

"  If  Miss  Fen  ton  encourages  Hannah  in  gadding  about, 
there  i*  not  the  slightest  need  for  you  to  take  her  phioe, 
Gay;  but,  of  course,  you  will  please  yourself/*  ' 

"Oh,  i  always  piths*  iuvaeiii,  Addle,"  returned  Gay, 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  15? 

cheerfully,  "  and  I  shall  enjoy  a  ramble  among  the 
lanes."  " 

And,  indeed,  we  had  a  delightful  afternoon  gathering 
wild  flowers,  and  resting  ourselves  in  any  shady  corner 
where  a  fallen  tree  or  stile  invited  us. 

"We  were  gathering  some  poppies  that  grew  among  the 
corn  when  Gay  called  me.  She  looted  a  little  anxious. 

"  Merle,  I  am  really  afraid  there  is  a  storm  coming  up. 
You  were  noticing  just  now  how  close  and  sultry  it  felt; 
those  clouds  look  ominous,  and  we  are  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  Marshlands/' 

I  felt  conscience-stricken  at  her  words.  We  had  been 
talking  and  laughing,  and  had  not  perceived  how  the  sun- 
shine had  faded.  Certainly,  the  clouds  had  a  lurid,  thun- 
derous look,  and  the  birds  were  flying  low,  and  seemed 
fussy  and  uncertain  in  their  movements.  True,  the  storm 
might  not  break  on  us  for  another  half  hour;  but  we 
should  never  get  the  children  home  in  that  time.  1 
thought  of  Reggie  with  dismay. 

""What  shall  we  do,  Miss  Gay?"  I  returned,  hurriedly. 
4<  It  would  be  nearer  to  Wheeler's  Farm.  We  might  take 
refuge  there. " 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  was  her  answer:  "  we  shall  be 
drenched  before  we  get  there.  The  Bed  Farm  is  not  half 
a  mile  off.  1  think  we  had  better  take  the  children  there, 
and  then  Mr.  Haw  fry  will  send  us  home  in  his  wagonette. 
Come — come!  Why  do  you  hesitate,  Merle?  He  is  fa- 
ther's old  friend;  and  even  Adelaide  would  find  no  fault 
with  us  if  we  took  refuge  at  the  Red  Farm." 

I  held  my  peace,  for  of  course  Miss  Cheriton  must  know 
what  her  father  and  sister  would  approve;  but  1  did  not 
like  the  notion  at  all,  and  I  followed  her  somewhat  re- 
luctantly down  the  field.  1  would  much  rather  have  gone 
to  Wheeler's  Farm,  and  put  ourselves  under  Molly's  pro- 
tection. Most  likely  they  would  have  placed  a  covered 
cart  or  wagon  at  our  disposal,  and  we  should  all  have  en- 


158  ME1UJ':'  HE. 

joyed  the  fun.  Gay  was  so  simple  and  unconventional 
that  she  saw  no  harm  at  all  in  going  to  the  Red  Farm; 
but  I  knew  what  Aunt  Agatha  would  say,  and  I  took  all 
my  notions  of  propriety  from  her. 

But  the  Fates  were  against  us,  for  just  as  we  reached 
the  stile  there  was  Squire  Hawtry  himself,  mounted  as 
usual  on  brown  Peter,  trotting  quietly  home.  He  checked 
Peter  at  once,  and  spoke  in  rather  a  concerned  voice. 

"  Miss  Cheriton,  this  is  very  imprudent.  There  will  be 
a  storm  directly.  Those  children  will  never  get  home." 

He  spoke  to  her,  but  J  fancied  he  meant  that  reproach- 
ful look  for  me.  No  doubt  I  was  the  one  to  blame. 

44  It  was  very  wrong,"  I  stammered;  "  but  we  were 
talking  and  did  not  notice.  I  want  Miss  Cheriton  to  hurry 
to  Wheeler's  Farm." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  he  said,  abruptly;  but  it  was  such  a 
pleasant  abruptness;  "  the  Red  Farm  is  a  mile  nearer. 
Give  the  little  girl  to  me,  Miss  Fenton,  and  th^n  you  call 
walk  on  quickly.  1  will  soon  have  her  under  shelter." 

There  was  no  disputing  this  sensible  advice,  and  as  soon 
as  Peter  was  trotting  on  with  his  double  burden  I  followed 
as  quickly  as  possible  with  Reggie.  We  were  only  just  in 
time,  after  all.  As  I  wheeled  Reggie  under  the  porch  of 
the  Red  Farm  the  first  heavy  drops  pattered  down. 

I  was  in  such  haste  that  I  only  stole  a  quick  glance  at 
the  low  red  house,  with  its  curious  mullioned  windows  and 
stone  porch.  I  had  noticed,  as  we  came  up  the  gravel 
walk,  a  thick  privet  hedge,  and  a  yew  walk,  and  a  grand 
old  walnut-tree  in  the  center  of  the  small  lawn,  with  a 
circular  seat.  There  were  seats,  too,  in  the  porch,  and  a 
sweet  smell  of  jasmine  and  clematis.  Then  the  door 
opened,  and  there  stood  Mr.  Hawtry,  with  a  beaming  face, 
and  Joyce  beside  him,  evidently  pleased  to  welcome  us  ail 
to  the  Red  Farm. 

I  lifted  Reggie  out  of  the  perambulator  and  carried  him 
into  the  hall.  It  had  some  handsome  oak  f  urnir>re  m  it: 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  169 

heavy  carved  cabinets  and  chairs,  and  a  tall  clock.  There 
was  a  tiger  skin  lying  before  the  fire-place.  An  open  glass 
door  led  into  a  charming  old  -  fashioned  garden,  with  a 
bowling-green  and  a  rustic  arbor,  and  a  long,  straight 
walk,  bordered  with  standard  rose-trees. 

A  tall,  thin  woman,  with  a  placid  face  and  gray  hair 
shook  hands  with  Gay.  Mr.  Hawtry  introduced  her  to 
me  as  "  Mrs.  Cornish,  my  worthy  housekeeper/'  and  then 
bade  her,  with  good-humored  peremptoriness,  "  to  get  tea 
ready  as  soon  as  possible  in  the  oak  room. " 

"  I  am  afraid  the  drawing-room  has  rather  a  chilly  as- 
pect," he  continued,  throwing  open  a  door.  "  Should  you 
not  prefer  sitting  in  my  den,  Miss  Gay,  until  Mrs.  Cornish 
tells  us  tea  is  ready?"  ' 

I  was  sorry  when  Miss  Cheriton  pronounced  in  favor  of 
the  den.  I  liked  the  look  of  that  drawing-room,  with  its 
three  long,  narrow  windows  opening  on  to  the  bowling- 
green.  It  had  faint,  yellowish  paneled  walls  and  an  old- 
fashioned  blue  couch,  and  there  was  some  beautiful  china 
on  an  Indian  cabinet.  No  doubt  that  was  where  his 
mother  and  Miss  Agnes  used  to  sit.  Perhaps  the  room 
held  sad  memories  for  him,  and  he  was  glad  to  close  the 
door  upon  them. 

Mr.  Hawtry's  den  was  a  small  front  room,  with  a  view 
of  the  privet  hedge  and  the  walnut-tree,  and  was  plainly 
furnished  with  a  round  table,  and  well-worn  leather  chairs, 
the  walls  lined  with  mahogany  book-shelves,  his  gun  and  a 
pair  of  handsomely  mounted  pistols  occupying  the  place  of 
honor  over  the  mantel-piece.  Joyce  called  it  an  ugly 
room,  but  I  thought  it  looked  comfortable  and  home-like, 
with  its  pleasant  litter  of  magazines  and  papers;  and  Gay 
said  at  once: 

"  I  do  like  this  old  den  of  yours,  Mr.  Hawtry;  it  is  such 
a  snug  room,  especially  in  winter,  when  father  and  I  have 
tsome  in  after  a  long,  cold  ride. " 


4  You  do  not  (;sv,"  h 

looking  at  her  a  little  keenly. 

She  colored,  as  though  the  remark  embarrassed  her,  and 
seemed  bent  on  excusing  herself. 

"  I  am  such  a  busy  person,  you  see,  and  now  I  spend  all 
my  leisure  time  with  the  children.  Am  I  not  a  devoted 
aunt,  Merle?" 

'  You  are  very  good  to  give  us  so  much  of  your  com- 
pany," I  returned,  for  I  saw  she  wanted  me  to  speak;  but 
just  then  a  flash  of  lightning  frightened  Joyce  away  from 
the  window,  and  she  came  to  me  for  protection.  Reggie, 
too,  began  to  cry,  and  I  had  some  trouble  in 'pacifying 
him. 

Gay  good-naturedly  came  to  my  assistance. 

"  Suppose  we  take  the  children  into  the  other  room  and 
show  them  the  shells;  it  would  distract  their  attention 
from  the  storm.  We  will  leave  you  to  read  your  paper  in 
peace,  Mr.  fiawtry."  But  he  insisted  on  going  with  us. 
The  cabinet  had  ^a  curious  lock,  he  assured  us,  and  no  one 
could  open  it  but  himself. 

The  children  were  delighted  with  the  shells,  and  a  little 
green  Indian*  idol  perfectly  fascinated  Reggie.  He  kissed 
the  grinning  countenance  with  intense  affection,  and  mur- 
mured, "  Pretty,  pretty."  My  attention  was  attracted  to 
a  miniature  in  a  velvet  frame.  It  was  a  portrait  of  a 
round-faced,  happy-looking  girl,  with  brown  eyes,  rather 
like  Mr.  Hawtry's. 

;<  That  was  my  sister  Agnes,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh,  and 
for  a  moment  his  face  clouded  over.  *'  She  died  two  years 
ago,  after  years  of  intense  suffering.  That  miniature  was 
painted  when  she  was  eighteen.  She  was  a  bright,  healthy 
creature  then.  Look,  that  was  her  couch,  where  she  spent 
her  days.  There  is  a  mystery  in  some  lives,  Miss  Fenton. 
I  never  understood  why  she  was  permitted  to  suffer  all 
these  years. " 

"  No,  indeed/'  observed  Ga^  who  heard  this.     "  Violet 

f 


MEBLE'S    CRUSADE  161 

and  I  were  so  fond  of  her;  she  could  be  so  men,,,  m  spite 
of  her  pain.  I  think  some  of  my  pleasantest  hours  have 
been  spent  in  this  room.  How  pleased 'she  used  to  be 
when  I  had  anything  new  to  tell  her  or  show  her.  I  do 
not  wonder  you  miss  her,  Mr.  Hawtry;  I  have  always  been 
sorry  for  you. ' ' 

I  thought  he  seemed  sorry  for  himself,  for  I  had  never 
seen  him  look  so  sad.  I  wished  then  that  Gay  had  not- 
brought  us  back  to  this  room;  it  was  evidently  full  of 
relics  of  the  past,  when  womanly  hands  had  busied  them- 
selves for  the  comfort  of  the  dearly  loved  son  arid  brother. 

The  little  round  table  beside  the  couch,  with  its  inlaid 
work-box  and  stand  of  favorite  books,  must  have  been 
Miss  Agnes's,  but  the  netting  case  and  faded  silk  bag  on 
the  other  side  of  the  fire-place,  with  the  spectacles  lying  on 
the  closed  Bible,  must  have  belonged  to  the  mother.  How 
sorely  must  he  have  missed  them!  Few  men  would  have 
cared  to  have  preserved  these  little  homely  treasures;  they 
would  have  swept  them  away  with  the  dead  past.  But 
now  and  then  a  strong  manly  character  has  this  element 
of  feminine  tenderness. 

I  think  nay  look  must  have  expressed  sympathy,  for  Mr. 
Hawtry  came  up  to  ine  as  I  stood  alone  by  the  window  (for 
Gay  was  still  showing  the  shells  to  the  children)  and  said, 
a  little  abruptly: 

"  It  is  good  of  you  to  be  sorry  for  me,  but  time  heals  all 
tvounds,  and,  in  spite  of  pain  and  loneliness,  one  would 
not  call  them  back  to  suffer. "  And  then  his  voice  changed 
to  a  lower  key.  "  1  wish  Agnes  could  have  known  you, 
Miss  Fenton;  ho\v  she  would  have  sympathized  with  your 
work!  All  good  women  are  fond  of  little  children,  but 
she  doted  on  them. "  There  were  so  many  children  in  the 
church-yard  on  the  day  she  was  buried." 

I  was  too  much  touched  to  answer,  but  he  went  on  as 
though  he  did  not  notice  xoy  silence. 

*'  You  seem  very  hap^  u*  your  work/"* 


"  Very  happy." 

"  One  can  see  that;  you  have  a  most  contented  expres* 
sioii;  it  almost  makes  one  envy  you.  I  wonder  how  you 
came  to  think  such  work  was  possible/' 

I  do  not  know  how  it  was,  but  Hound  myself  telling  Mr. 
Hawtry  all  about  Aunt  Agatha  and  the  cottage  at  Putney.' 
I  even  Jet  fall  a  word  or  two  about  my  miserable  deficiency. 
I  am  not  sure  what  I  said,  but  I  certainly  saw  him  smile, 
as  though  something  amused  him. 

I  was  almost  sorry  when  Mrs.  Cornish  called  us  into  the 
oak  room,  and  yet  a  most  pleasant  hour  followed.  Mrs. 
Cornish  poured  out  the  tea,  and  the.  children  were  very 
good;  even  Reggie  behaved  quite  nicely.  The  room  was 
very  dark  and  low,  and  furnished  entirely  with  oak,  but  a 
cheery  little  fire  burned  on  the  hearth;  and  though  the 
thunder  rain  beat  heavily  against  the  window,  it  seemed 
only  to  add  to  our  merriment.  Mr.  Hawtry  had  promised 
to  drive  us  home  in  the  wagonette,  but  we  dared  not  vent- 
ure until  the  storm  was  over. 

When  the  children  had  finished  their  bread  and  honey 
they  played  about  the  room,  while  we  gathered  round  the 
window. 

Mr.  Hawtry  spoke  most  to  Gay,  and  I  sat  by  and 
listened.  He  spoke  about  Mr.  Rossiter  presently. 

"  I  think  him  a  capital  fellow/'  he  said,  in  his  hearty 
manner;  "  and  it  quite  puzzles  me  why  Mrs.  Markham  dis- 
likes him  so;  she  is  always  finding  fault  with  him." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  accounting  for  Adelaide's  likes  and 
dislikes,"  replied  Gay,  a  little  impatiently.  "  Sometimes 
I  think-  she  would  have  found  fault  with  Saint  Paul  him- 
self, if  she  had  known  him." 

Mr.  Hawtry  laughed.  '*  Rossiter  is  not  a  Saint  Paul, 
certainly,  but  he  is  a  downright  honest  fellow,  and  that  is 
what  I  like.  Perhaps  he  is  not  a  shining  light  in  the  pul- 
pit, but  he  is  so  earnest  and  painstaking  that  we  can  not 
Uame  his  want  ot  eloquence.  He  ig  just  the  companion 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  163 

that  suits  me;  always  cheerful  arid  always  good-tempered, 
and  ready  to  talk  on  any  subject.  I  must  say  1  am  rather 
partial  to  Walter  Bossiter. " 

Now  1  wonder  what  made  Gay  look  so  pleased,  and  why 
her  eyes  beamed  so  softly  on  Mr.  Hawtry.  But  she  said 
nothing,  and  Mr.  Eossiter *s  name  soon  dropped  out  of  the 
conversation. 

Very  shortly  after  that  the  rain  cleared,  and  the  wagon- 
ette was  ordered.  While  we  were  waiting  for  it,  Gay  asked 
me  to  come  with  her  into  the  dairy,  to  see  Lydia  Sowerby. 
I  was  anxious  to  see  Hannah's  sister,  but  I  own  1  was  not 
prepossessed  with  her  appearance.  She  had  red  hair,  like 
Molly — indeed,  most  of  the  Sowerbys  had  red  hair — but 
she  was  far  plainer  than  Molly,  and  it  struck  me  her  face 
looked  hard. 

1  had  to  own  by  and  by,  however,  that  my  first  impres- 
sions were  wrong,  for  a  few  moments  afterward  when  Mrs. 
Cornish  carried  Eeggie  into  the  dairy,  Lydia's  hard-feat- 
ured face  softened  in  a  wonderful  manner,  and  such  a 
pleasant  smile  redeemed  her  plainness. 

"  Oh,  do  let  me  hold  him  a  moment,"  she  said,  eagerly; 
"  he  reminds  me  of  little  Davie,  our  poor  little  brother 
who  died.  Hannah  has  talked  so  much  about  him."  And 
when  Mrs.  Cornish  relinquished  him  reluctantly,  she  car- 
ried him  about  the  dairy  with  such  pride  and  joy  that 
Mrs.  Cornish  nodded  her  head  at  her  beuignantly. 

"  You  are  a  rare  one  for  children,  Lyddy;  1  never  saw  a 
woman  to  beat  you.  She  is  always  begging  me  to  ask 
Dan/'  she  went  on,  turning  to  us.  "  She  spoils  Dan 
hugely,  and  so  does  Molly;  they  are  both  of  them  soft- 
hearted, though  you  would  not  believe  it  to  look  at  them; 
but  many  a  soft  fruit  has  a  rough  rind, "  finished  Mrs. 
Cornish. 

Eeggie  was  asleep  all  the  way  home,  but  Joyce  prattled 
incessantly.  I  took  them  .into  the  bouse  as  quietly  aa  J 


CRUSADE. 

could,  after  bidding  Mr.  Hawtry  good-night.     1  thought  it 
best  to  leave  Gay  to  explain  things  to  Mrs.  Markham. 

But  all  that  evening,  until  I  slept,  a  sentence  of  Mr. 
Hawtry's  haunted  me:  "  I  wish  my  sister  Agnes  could 
have  known  you,  Miss  Fenton. "  Why  did  he  wish  that? 
And  yet,  and  yet  I  should  have  been  glad  to  have  known 
Anges  Hawtry,  too. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

A    CATASTBOPHE. 

ABOUT  three  weeks  after  my  mistress's  visit  something 
very  terrible  happened.  I  wish  the  history  of  that  day 
would  get  itself  told  without  the  pain  of  telling  it.  My 
life  has  been  a  happy  one,  thank  God!  I  have  been  "  led 
by  paths  that  1  have  not  known,"  but  even  now  I  never 
look  back  upon  that  day  without  a  shudder.  Oh,  Reggie, 
my  darling!  But  God  was  good  to  us,  and  the  danger 
passed;  still,  it  will  be  only  in  Heaven  that  we  shall  bear 
to  look  back  on  past  perils  without  dimness  of  eyes  and 
failing  of  heart! 

I  had  never  left  Rolf  alone  with  the  children  for  a  mo- 
ment since  Judson  had  told  me  of  his  mischievous  propen- 
sities. 1  had  grown  fond  of  Rolf,  and  he  was  certainly 
very  much  improved;  but  I  always  felt  he  was  not  to  be 
trusted,  and  either  Hannah  or  I  kept  a  strict  guard  over 
him.  He  was  never  permitted  to  enter  the  nursery  in  the 
morning;  if  we  went  out,  he  joined  us,  as  a  matter  of 
course;  but  more  than  once  when  he  begged  for  admit- 
tance I  had  refused  it  decidedly.  Hannah  was  always  busy 
in  the  morning,  and  the  children  slept  for  an  hour,  and  if 
there  were  time  I  liked  to  take  Joyce  to  her  lessons,  or  to 
set  her  some  baby- task  of  needle- work,  and  Rolf  always 
made  her  so  rough. 

On  a  rainy  afternoon  or  in  the  evening  she  would  b* 
allowed  to  romp  with  Rolf,  and  they  always  played  to- 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

gether  on  the  beach.  Rolf  was  more  in  his  clement  out-of- 
doors.  Jadson  had  been  very  unwell  for  some  days.;  she 
was  »  sickly  sort  of  body,  and  was  often  ailing;  but  just 
then  she  had  a,  threatening  of  quinsy,  and  seemed  very 
feverish  and  .suffering. 

Her  room  was  close  to  the  nursery,  and  it  was  only 
sheer  humanity  for  Hannah  or  myself  to  go  in  now  and 
then  and  see  what  we  could  do  for  her.  I  had  got  it  into 
my  head  that  she  was  somewhat  neglected  by  the  other 
servants.  I  know  Gay  thought  so,  for  she  asked  me  to  do 
what  I  could  for  her. 

She  had  been  ordered  some  linseed  poultices  that  morn- 
ing, and  Mrs.  Markham  had  come  up  to  the  nursery,  and 
asked  me  very  civilly  if  I  would  apply  them,  as  the  upper 
house-maid  was  away,  and  Susan  was  very  clumsy  and  help- 
less. 

"  1  will  stay  with  the  children,"  she  said,  quite  gra- 
ciously, for  her;  "  and  Hannah  is  here."  And  as  I  knew 
Rolf  was  in  the  garden  with  his  aunt,  I  could  not  find  a 
loop-hole  for  excuse.  I  do  not  think  I  was  wrong  now,  for 
how  could  I  have  refused  such  a  request?  But  the  Fates 
were  against  me.  That  is  a  foolish  and  untrue  expression, 
but  1  will  let  it  stand. 

The  poultices  were  far  from  hot,  and  poor  Judsou ,  who 
seemed  in  great  j>aiii  and  very  nervous  about  herself, 
begged  me  to  go  down  to  the  housekeeper's  room  and 
make  some  more.  "It  is  no  use  Susan  making  them, 
and  Mrs.  Rumble  is  always  so  busy/'*  she  whispered;  **  do 
go  yourself,  Miss  Feuton,  and  then  1  shall  be  more  sure  of 
hot  ones. "  * 

The  housekeeper's  room  lay  at  the  end  of  a  long  pas- 
sage leading  from  the  hall,  shut  in  with  red  baize  doors. 
These  swing-doors  deadened  sound,  and  that  was  why  I 
did  not  hear  Rolf  come  in  from  the  garden  and  scamper 
upstairs. 

The  front-door  bell  rang  immediately  afterward,  and 


166  MEKLE'S  CRUSADE. 

some  vmtors  were  asked  into  the  drawing-room.  I  know 
Gay  was  about  the  premises,  and  the  idea  never  crossed  my 
mind  that  Mrs.  Markham  would  desert  her  post  and  leave 
the  three  children  alone  in  the  nursery;  but  I  heard  after- 
ward that  this  was  the  case.  An  old  Indian  friend  had 
called,  and  Mrs.  Markham  had  desiied  Rolf  to  summon 
Hannah  from  the  night  nursery;  but  Rolf,  who  was  sel- 
dom obedient  to  his  mother,  had  simply  ignored  the  order. 

I  was  some  little  time  in  the  housekeeper's  room.  The 
kettle  did  not  boil,  and  I  was  compelled  to  wait.  I  was 
rather  impatient  at  the  delay.  As  I  stood  talking  to  Mrs. 
Rumble  I  saw  Mr.  Hawtry  ride  up  to  the  front  door. 

I  succeeded  at  last  in  making  the  poultices.  Judson 
was  very  grateful  to  me,  and  thanked  me  warmly  as  I  put 
them  on.  I  had  just  covered  her  over  comfortably,  and 
taken  from  her  the  red  woolen  shawl  in  which  she  had 
wrapped  herself,  when  a  sudden  report,  as  though  from  a 
toy  cannon,  and  then  a  piercing  scream  from  the  nursery, 
made  me  start  as  though  I  had  been  shot,  for  the  scream 
was  from  Joyce. 

The  next  instant  I  was  in  the  nursery;  but,  oh,  merci- 
ful heavens!  the  sight  that  met  my  eyes.  Hannah  had 
just  opened  the  door.  Rolf  and  Joyce  were  huddled  to- 
gether on  the  window-seat,  beside  themselves  with  terror, 
and  there  stood  Reggie  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  his 
pinafore  and  white  frock  in  flames!  I  must  have  uttered 
a  scream  that  roused  the  house,  and  then  it  seemed  to  me 
as  though  I  knew  nothing,  and  felt  nothing  except  the 
smarting  pains  in  my  arm  and  shoulder.  I  had  thrown 
the  child  on  the  floor  and  covered  him  with  my  body,  and 
the  woolen  shawl  was  between  us,  and  1  was  crushing  the 
dear  life  almost  out  of  him  with  that  terrible  pressure. 

I  seemed  to  know  instinctively  that  nothing  else  could 
save  him.  Happily,  I  wore  a  stuff  dre$s,  for  there  was  no 
rug  or  carpet  in  the  nursery,  and,  with  the  open  door  and 
windows,  another  moment  would  have  been  too  lafce.  1 


HEELED   CRT7SABE. 

could  hear  Reggie's  piteous  cries,  but  I  dare  not  release 
him;  I  must  crush  and  smother  the  flames.  There  wa§ 
the  terrible  smell  of  burning,  the  singeing  of  stuff,  a  sud» 
den  uproar  round  me,  confused  voices  and  exclamations. 
I  seemed  to  hear  Gay's  voice  crying,  "  Oh,  Merle!  you  will 
smother  the  child!"  And  then  strong  arms  lifted  me  off 
Reggie.  I  knew  it  was  Mr.  Hawtry;  no  one  else  could 
have  done  it.  His  grasp  gave  me  intense  agony,  and  I 
tried  to  free  myself. 

"  Let  me  go!  I  must  see  if  he  is  hurt. "  But  Gay  had 
him  already  in  her  lap,  and  I  knelt  down  beside  her  and 
examined  him  carefully. 

His  frock  and  pinafore  were  hanging  in  blackened  shreds 
around  him,  but  there  was  only  a  large  hole  burned  in  his 
flannel  petticoat,  and  one  of  his  dear  little'  legs  was 
scorched;  not  a  curl  of  his  hair  was  singed,  and  only  one 
hand  had  sustained  a  slight  injury.  They  said  there  were 
bruises  on  him  that  I  had  caused  by  my  violence,  but  that 
was  all,  Mrs.  Markham  assured  me;  there  were  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  her  face  was  as  white  as  death  as  she  said  it. 

*'  The  little  fellow  will  soon  be  all  right,"  observed  Mr. 
Hawtry,  kindly;  "  he  has  been  frightened  and  hurt;  that 
makes  him  cry  so.  But  now  it  is  time  your  wounds  should 
be  dressed,  Miss  Fenton. " 

I  looked  at  him,  as  though  I  failed  to  comprehend  his 
meaning,  but  he  pointed  to  my  arms  with  such  a  pitying 
expression  on  his  face  that  I  looked  too.  My  sleeves  were 
hanging  in  shreds  like  Reggie's  frock,  and  there  were  large 
burns  on  each  arm;  my  right  shoulder  felt  painful,  too;  a 
faint,  sickening  sensation  seemed  creeping  over  me.  I 
must  have  got  my  arms  under  him,  or  I  should  not  have 
been  so  badly  burned,  and  some  of  my  hair  was  singed* 
When  Gay  touched  me  gently  I  shuddered  with  pain,  and 
they  all  looked  at  me  very  gravely. 

"  "We  must  have  Doctor  Staples,  Roger,"  observed  Mra 
Markham;  "  her  arms  must  be  properly  dressed. " 


168  MERLE'S  OIU:BALH:. 

"  I  will  go  for  him  at  once,75  returned  Mr,  Hawtry, 
"  but  I  advise  you  to  give  her  a  little  wine  or  brandy:  she 
looks  faint  with  pain/5  And  then  he  went  away,  and  we 
«,ould  hear  him  galloping  down  the  avenue  and  along  the 
road. 

I  drank  what  they  gave  me,  but  I  refused  to  lie  down 
until  Reggie  had  been  undressed.  I  would  not  be  per- 
suaded without  the  evidence  of  my  own  eyes  that  he  had 
sustained  no  serious  injury.  I  suppose  his  scorched  leg 
pained  him,  for  he  still  cried  incessantly,  and  beat  us  off 
in  his  usual  fashion;  but  when  Hannah  had  dressed  him  in 
his  nice  clean  frock,  he  grew  pacified  at  the  sight  of  his 
blue  ribbons,  and  only  said,  "Poor,  poor/'  as  he  pointed 
to  me.  He  wanted  to  come  on  my  lap,  but  when  I  tried 
to  take  him  I  turned  so  faint  that  Gay  looked  frightened 
and  snatched  him  away. 

I  wanted  to  know  what  had  become  of  Rolf,  but  Mrs. 
Markham  said,  sternly,  and  her  lips  were  still  very  pale, 
that  she  had  sent  him  to  his  room:  "  Tell  me  how  it  hap- 
pened, Joyce/5  she  continued,  drawing  the  child  to  her. 
"  1  told  Rolf  to  fetch  Hannah;  did  she  not  come  to  you?55 

"  Rolf  didn5t  fetch  her,  Aunt  Adda;  he  said  he  was  a 
big  boy,  and  would  take  care  of  us.  Poor  Rolf  did  not 
mean  to  be  naughty,  did  he,  nurse?55 

"  He  must  be  severely  punished  for  his  disobedience,  he 
has  nearly  killed  your  little  brother,  Joyce.  Tell  me  what 
Rolf  did  after  that." 

"  He  asked  me  if  I  would  not  like  to  see  his  dear  little 
cannon  that  went  pop  when  he  told  it,55  went  on  Joyce, 
looking  extremely  frightened.  "1  did  not  know  cannons 
were  wicked  things,  and  I  said  yes;  and  Rolf  showed  us 
the  cannon,  and  told  us  to  get  out  of  the  way,  for  it  would 
kill  us  dead,  and  1  runned,  and  baby  clapped  his  hands 
and  runned  the  wrong  way,  and  Rolf  had  fire  in  his  hand, 
like  Hannah  lights  the  candles  with,  and  baby5s  pinafore 
got  on  fire,  and  I  screamed  as  hard  as  I  could  for  nurse. " 


169 

It  must  have  been  just  as  Joyce  said,  for  the  toy  cannon 
was  on  the  floor,  and  a  box  of  matches  beside  it.  Probably 
Rolf  had  not  seen  Reggie  beside  him,  and  had  thrown  the 
lighted  match  aside  in  his  excitement.  Mrs.  Markham 
sighed  deeply  as  she  listened.  She  had  sustained  a  severe 
shock;  her  face  looked  very  dark  and  rigid  as  she  left  the 
room.  1  was  afraid  she  meant  to  punish  Rolf  severely, 
and  begged  Gay  to  follow  her  and  plead  for  mercy. 

"  Rolf  has  had  a  fright  that  will  last  him  for  life;  his  ter- 
ror has  been  punishment  enough. "  But  Gay  shook  her 
head. 

"It  is  no  use  interfering  with  Adelaide;  she  will  take 
her  own  way.  I  am  sorry  for  Rolf;  but  he  deserves  any 
punishment  he  gets.  Reggie  would  have  been  burned  <p 
death  but  for  your  presence  of  mind,  Merle;  none  of  us 
could  have  reached  the  nursery  in  time.  Mr.  Hawtry  said 
so  at  once. "  * 

Reggie  burned  to  death!  and  then  my  mistress  would 
have  died,  too;  she  could  not  have  survived  the  horror  of 
that  shock.  I  begged  Gay  faintly  not  to  say  such  things; 
the  bare  mention  of  it  turned  me  sick.  I  suppose  she  was 
alarmed  by  my  ghastly  look,  for  she  kissed  me,  and  said, 
soothingly,  that  I  must  not  distress  myself  so;  we  could 
only  be  thankful  that  Reggie  was  safe.  t 

Dr.  Staples  came  soon  after  that  He  was  a  benevolent- 
looking  old  man,  and  was  very  kind  and  gentle.  He  said 
one  of  my  arms,  the  left  one,  was  severely  burned,  and 
that  it  would  be  some  little  time  before  it  was  healed. 
'These  things  depend  a  great  deal  on  the  constitution; 
but  you  seem  strong  and  healthy,  Miss  Fenton,  so  I  hope 
you  will  soon  be  right  again;  but  you  must  not  expect  to 
lose  the  scars.'' 

I  was  sorry  to  hear  that,  for  I  knew  the  scars  would  re- 
mind me  of  a  terrible  hour  in  my  life.  The  dressing  was 
very  painful,  and  when  it  was  finished  I  was  compelled  to. 
follow  Dr.  Staples's  advioe  and  go  to  bed.  I  was  suffering 


£ft)  MERLF/S    CRUSADE. 

k 

from  the  shock,  and  I  knew  my  arms  would  be  useless  to 
me  for  a  week  to  come.  I  felt  shaken  and  sick,  and  us- 
able to  bear  the  childish  voices. 

Gay  followed  me  into  the  night  nursery,  and  gave  me 
all  the  help  she  could,  and  she  did  not  leave  me  until  my 
head  was  on  the  lavender-scented  pillow.  In  spite  of  pain 
and  dizziness,  it  was  nice  to  lie  there  and  hear  the  birds 
twittering  under  the  caves  and  the  bees  hummihg  about 
the  flowers,  and  to  look  out  on  the  sunshine  and  feel  a 
great  mercy  had  been  vouchsafed  to  me,  that  I  had  not 
been  suffered  to  fail  in  the  hour  of  peril. 

Gay  hung  up  her  cage  of  canaries  in  the  window,  to 
divert  my  mind,  and  laid  a  bunch  of  dark  clove  carna- 
tions, with  a  late  rose  or  two  among  them,  on  the  quilt. 

"  Mr.  Hawtry  is  still  here,  Merle;  he  is  very  anxious  to 
know  if  you  are  in  less  pain,  and  whether  there  is  anything 
he  ean  do  for  you.  He  seems  quite  grieved  because  Doc- 
tor Staples  says  your  arm  is  badly  burned/' 

I  sent  a  civil  message  of  thanks  to  Mr.  Hawtry,  and 
then  I  detained  Gay  a  moment. 

"  Miss  Gay,  you  must  write  to  Mr.  Morton  yourself.  I 
have  promised  your  sister  to  tell  her  everything;  but  it  will 
shock  her  too  much,  and  I  think  Mr.  Morton  should  know 
first." 

Gay  looked  distressed. 

"  Need  we  tell  tl/em,  Merle?  Violet  is  not  at  all  well; 
Alick  said  so  in  his  letter  this  morning.  Scotland  does 
not  seem  to  suit  her,  and  he  thinks  they  will  soon  coine 
home." 

"  And  they  have  not  been  away  a  month  yet,"  I  ob- 
served, regretfully;  "  not  more  than  three  weeks  and  two 
days;  and  Mr.  Morton  is  so  fond  of  Scotland/' 

'*  Alick  thinks  more. of  Vi  than  deer-stalking.  If  she 
be  not  well,  he  will  bring  her  home  without  a  word  of 
grumbling.  In  some  respects  Alick  is  a  very  good  has- 
band?  Why  need  we  sa?. any  thing  about  the  accident, 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  t  171 

Merle?  Reggie  is  scarcely  hurt  at  all;  his  scorched  leg 
will  soongefc  right/' 

"  It  is  not  fair  to  keep  anything  from  them.  I  promised 
1  would  tell  everything;  arid  my  mistress  must  know  I  am 
invalided  and  can  not  do  my  duty." 

"  You  need  not  fret  about  that/'  she  returned,  cheer- 
fully. "  Susan  shall  help  Hannah,  and  1  will  be  here  as 
much  as  possible.  I  am  a  famous  nurse.  We  will  make 
Mrs.  Bumble  wait  on  Judsou.  Very  well,  Merle,  I  will 
write  to  Alick;  but  I  would  much  rather  not." 

I  had  forgotten  poor  Judson,  but  I  did  not  forget  Rolf; 
I  asked  several  times  after  him,  but  Gay  had  not  seen 
him.  Rolf  was  in  disgrace,  and  a  close  prisoner  to  his 
room.  He  had  had  his  dinner  sent  up  to  him;  but  Ade- 
laide was  lying  down  in  her  own  room  all  the  afternoon 
with  a  bad  headache,  and,  as  Rolf's  communicated  with 
hers,  no  one  could  visit  him  unperceived. 

I  wondered  if  Mrs.  Markham's  eyes  were  at  last  opened 
to  the  danger  of  Rolf's  disobedience  and  her  own  faulty 
management.  She  was  to  blame  as  much  as  the  child. 
She  had  given  me  her  word  to  remain  in  the  nursery,  and 
no  visitors  should  have  tempted  her  from  her  post.  It  was 
no  surprise  to  me  to  hear  she  was  ill  with  worry;  her  con- 
science must  have  reproached  her  for  her  breach  of  trust. 
If  Reggie  had  been  killed,  his  death  would  have  been  owing 
to  her  carelessness.  Later  on  in  the  e,  veiling,  just  as  it 
was  getting  dusk,  Gay  came  to  me  for  a  minute  with  a 
plate  of  fine  fruit  in  her  hand.  They  had  tempted  me  all 
day  long  with  delicacies,  but  I  had  felt  too  ill  to  eat.  The 
fruit  just  suited  rne,  for  1  was  feverish  with  pain. 

"  Adelaide  has  just  come  down-stairs,"  she  said,  with  a 
droll  little  laugh.  "  Mr.  Rossi ter  had  heard  of  the  acci- 
dent, and  had  dropped  in  to  inquire,  so  father  kept  him  to 
dinner.  When  Adelaide  heard  that,  she  came  down  as 
soon  as  possible;  and  there  she  sits,  looking  ILse  a  ghost, 
until  Mr.  Rossiter  takes  his  departure." 


M  £  K  L  K  S    C  ft  I  s  \.  D  i  , 

"  And  Rolf?" 


"  Oh,  I  suppose  Rolf  is  asleep/'  she  returned,  oarelee*. 
ly;  and  as  she  was  evidently  in  a  hurry  to  return  to  the 
drawing-room,  I  would  not  keep  her;  but  as  soon  as  she 
had  closed  the  door  a  sudden  idea  came  into  my  head.  1 
would  go  and  see  Rolf  myself;  I  was  not  easy  about  him. 
1  knew  his  mother  could  be  too  severe  even  with  her 
idolized  boy  on  occasions,  but  I  never  could  bear  a  child  to 
be  long  unhappy.  I  rose  very  quietly,  so  as  not  to  disturb 
the  children,  and  threw  on  my  dressing-gown.  I  was 
rather  afraid  my  white  face  and  bandaged  arms  would 
frighten  Rolf,  until  1  remembered  it  was  dusk,  and  he 
could  not  see  me  distinctly. 

Mrs.  Markham's  suite  of  rooms  lay  in  the  west  corridor. 
I  knew  no  one  would  be  about;  poor  Judson  was  in  bed; 
so  I  reached  Rolf's  room  without  interruption.  1  thought 
I  heard  him  sobbing  softly  to  himself  as  I  opened  the  door. 
When  I  spoke  to  him,  making  my  way  through  the  sum- 
mer twilight  to  his  little  bed,  he  started  up  and  held  out 
his  arms. 

"  Oh,  Fenny,  is  that  really  you,  dear  Fenny?  Do  come 
close  and  let  me  feel  you.  I  have  been  thinking  of  such 
horrid  things.  " 

I  told  him  gently  that  I  was  in  great  pain,  and  that  he 
must  not  touch  me,  but  that  I  would  sit  down  for  a  little 
while  beside  him  and  talk  to  him. 

"  But  I  may  hold  your  hand?"  he  pleaded.  *4  Is  yon- 
hand  burned  too,  Fenny,  or  don't  yon  like  to  touch  me  b<  - 
cause  I  am  such  a  wicked  boy,  as  mother  says,  and  very 
nearly  killed  poor  little  Reggie?" 

My  heart  melted  at  his  pitiful  tone,  and  I  stooped  over 
him  and  kissed  his  hot  face. 

"You  may  hold  my  hand,  Rolf  dear,  if  you  like;  it  is 
only  my  arms  that  are  hurt;  there,  we  are  comfortable 
now.  Tell  me,  have  you  had  a  very  miserable  day?" 

"  Oh,  so  miserable!"  and  there  were   tears  in  Rolf's 


MERLE'S;  CRUSADE.  173 

Mother  has  been  so  angry;  she  shut  me  up  in 
this  room,  though  it  was  such  a  fine  day,  and  would  not 
let  any  one  speak  to  me;  and  I  could  not  get  her  to  an- 
swer, although  I  said  over  and  over  again  that  1  was  sorry, 
and  would  not  have  hurt  Reggie  for  the  world;  he  is  such 
a  dear  little  fellow,  you  know.  Oh!  I  am  so  fond  of  him. 
But  mother  said  no,  she  would  not  listen;  I  had  disobeyed 
her,  and  nearly  killed  Reggie,  and  that  Aunt  Violet  wouW 
never  speak  to  me  again." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will,  Rolf  \" 

'•'But  if  Reggie  had  been  really  burned,  you  know," 
and  here  Rolf  shivered;  his  hand  was  quite  cold,  though 
his  face  was  burning.  He  was  a  nervous,  excitable  child, 
and  no  doubt  this  long  summer's  day  had  been  a  martyr- 
dom to  him.  He  had  conjured  up  all  sorts  of  horrible 
fancies  to  haunt  his  dreams.  Yes,  he  had  been  sufficiently 
punished,  I  was  sure  of  that. 

"  Tell  me  how  it  happened,  dear/'  I  said,  quietly. 

*'  I  was  firing  my  cannon  to  please  Joyce.  I  know 
mother  told  me  never  to  take  it  in  the  nursery,  and  that 
she  did  not  like  my  lighting  it  unless  Judson  had  th* 
match-box,  but  1  forgot. " 

"  Did  you  really  forget,  Rolf?" 

"Yes,  really,  I  did;  1  never  do  remember  things,  you 
know.  1  was  only  thinking  how  Joyce  would  scream  when 
the  cannon  popped.  I  told  them  to  get  out  of  the  way, 
only  Reggie,  poor  little  fellow!  ran  against  me  and  knocked 
the  match  out  of  my  hand — it  was  alight,  you  know — and 
then  Joyce  did  scream,  and — "  but  here  Rolf  buried  hi" 
head  in  the  pillow;  the  recollection  was  evidently  too  pain- 
ful. <cYou  will  all  hate  me,"  he  sobbed,  "because  I 
nearly  killed  Reggie — you  and  Aunt  Violet;  and  I  do  lovo 
Aunt  Violet,  because  she  is  so  pretty. " 

"No  one  will  hate  you,  my  poor  child;  we  are  onljf 
aorry  that  the  son  of  a  brave  soldier  like  Colonel  Mart 
fcam  should  be  such  &  Coward  as  to  disobey  his  mother 


174  .  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

Tour  mother  told  you  to  fetch  Hannah.  Did  you  forge* 
that  too,  Rolf?" 

"  No/'  in  a  conscience-stricken  voice,  "  I  did  not  for- 
get, Fenny;  but  I  thought  it  would  be  fun  to  take  care  oi 
the  children.1" 

"  But  it  was  disobedience,  Rolf,  just  as  much  as  your 
coming  into  the  nursery  at  that  time  you  took  advantage 
of  my  absence  first,  aud  then  of  your  mother's.  I  think  a 
brave  soldier  like  your  father  would  call  that  cowardly. 
Now,  I  want  you  to  listen  to  a  story  about  the  bravest  boy 
of  whom  1  ever  heard."'  And  as  I  stroked  his  rough  head 
I  told  him  the  story  of  Casabianca  arid  the  burning  ship. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ROLF'S  PENITENCE. 

FROM  a  child  that  story  of  Casabianca  had  fascinated 
me,  and  1  could  see  it  fascinated  Rolf. 

"  How  1  do  like  that  fellow  Cassy — what  do  you  call 
him?"  he  exclaimed,  enthusiastically,  when  I  had  fin- 
ished. "  I  call  that  plucky,  and  no  mistake,  to  stick  to 
the  burning  ship.  What  a  brave  man  he  would  have  made 
if  he  had  lived!" 

"  Yes,  indeed;  but  he  lived  long,  enough  to  do  a  man's 
work  in  the  world — faithful  until  death.  '  Faithful  in 
little,  faithful  in  much/  Rolf.  Casabianca  would  never 
have  disobeyed  his  mother,  or  thought  he  knew  best, 
would  he?" 

*'  No,  Fenny,"  in  a  contrite  voice,  and  sidling  up  to  me 
again. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  can  never  be  a  soldier,  dear!" 

"  What  do  you  mean?" — sitting  up  erect  in  bed,  with 
his  beautiful  eyes  quite  glaring  at  me  in  the  twilight.  "  I 
mean  to  be  a  soldier,  I  tell  you,  and  use  father's  sword!  I 
shall  be  ColoneJ  Markham,  too,  one  of  these  days,  unless  I 
am  killed  in  battle*^' 


175 

"  You  can  not  be  a  soldier  unless  you  learn  to  obey, 
Rolf;  you  can  not  rule  your  men  until  you  have  submitted 
to  rule  yourself.  Officers  are  gentlemen,  and  gentlemen 
are  never  cowards;  and  1  call  it  cowardly,  Rolf — quite  a 
mean  trick — to  creep  into  the  nursery  in  my  absence. 
Honor  should  have  kept  you  from  crossing  the  threshold." 

Now  Rolf  could  not  endure  to  be  called  a  coward,  so  he 
lost  his  temper,  and,  1  am  sorry  to  say,  called  me  a  nasty, 
spiteful  old  cat,  "  which  you  are,  Fenny,  you  know  you 
are,  and  a  great  deal  worse!"  And  the  next  moment  he 
had  thrown  a  rough  pair  of  arms  round  my  neck,  his  peni- 
tence inflicting  on  me  excruciating  pain. 

"  There,  there,  never  mind  " — hugging  me — "  I  don't 
mean  it.  You  are  a  dear  old  thing,  Fenny,  and  1  mean  to 
marry  you  when  1  grow  up.  You  are  such  a  plain  young 
woman,  as  mother  says,  that  no  one  else  would  ask  you,  so 
I  will." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  marry  a  coward,  Rolf?" 

"  There  you  go  again  " — in  a  vexed  voice — "  but  I  shall 
never  be  a  coward  any  more;  I  mean  to  be  a  brave  boy, 
like  Gassy — what  do  you  call  him?  1  mean  to  mind 
mother,  and  not  to  forget;  and  I  will  throw  my  cannon 
into  the  sea  to-morrow,  though  I  am  so  fond  of  it,  and  Mr. 
Rossiter  (Walter  I  call  him,  but  he  does  not  mind)  gave  it 
to  me.  It  cost  a  lot — indeed,  it  did,  Fenny — but,  all  the 
same,  it  shall  be  drownded  dead." 

"  If  thine  eye  offend  thee,  pluck  it  out.'3  I  think  there 
was  something  very  real  in  that  childish  sacrifice.  It  was 
his  treasured  plaything,  but  it  had  tempted  him  to  dis- 
obedience; he  would  fling  it  away  with  both  hands.  How 
few  of  us  repent  in  that  way!  Meet  cidpa,  we  say,  but  we 
hug  our  darling  sin  close  to  us;  it  is  not,  like  Rolf's  can- 
non, "  drownded  dead."  Brave,  poor  little  faulty  Rolf,  J 
begin  to  have  better  hopes  of  you! 

So  I  kissed  and  comforted  Rolf,  and  he  clung  to  me 
quite  affectionately.  1  asked  him  if  he  had  said  his  pray 


ers,  and  he  said  no,  he  had  been  too  unhappy.,  because  n« 
one  would  forgive  him;  so  we  said  them  together,  and 
afterward  we  had  a  little  more  talk.  I  was  just  going  to 
leave  him  when  a  light  crossed  the  threshold,  and  there 
stood  Mrs.  Markham,  with  a  lamp  in  her  hand.  She 
looked  very  ill  and  unhappy,  and  I  am  sure  she  had  been 
shedding  tears. 

Rolf  sprung  up  in  bed.  "  Oh,  mother,  do  forgive  me!" 
he  cried.  <k  I  am  sure  I  have  been  miserable  long  enough. 
Fenny  has  been  telling  me  about  Gassy — you  know  the  fel- 
low; and  I  mean  to  be  like  him.  I  will  drown  my  dear 
little  cannon;  and  I  will  never,  never,  never  disobey  you 
again!" 

I  think  Mrs.  Markbam  was  longing  in  her  heart  to  for- 
give him.  She  had  suffered  as  much  as  the  child.  She 
said  nothing,  but  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  held  out  her 
arms,  and  Rolf  nestled  into  them.  She  kissed  him  almost 
passionately,  but  a  tear  rolled  down  her  face. 

"  I  think  you  will  break  my  heart  one  day,  Rolf,  as 
your — "  She  checked  herself,  and  did  not  finish  her  sen- 
tence. Did  she  mean  Rolf's  father?  Colonel  Markham 
had  been  a  brave  officer,  I  knew,  and  had  died  in  battle; 
but  he  had  not  made  his  wife  happy. 

"Oh,  no,  mother,"  returned  Rolf;  "I  am  going  to  be 
a  brave  man,  like  father,  and  fight  for  everybody.  I  mean 
to  take  care  of  you  when  you  are  an  old,  old  woman. 
Won't  that  be  nice?  You  won't  mind  my  marrying  Fenny 
when  I  am  quite  grown  up,  will  you,  mother?  Because 
she  is  such  an  old  dear — not  really  old,  you  know,  but  so. 
nice." 

Mrs.  Markham  smiled  faintly  at  the  boy's  nonsense,  but 
she  looked  at  me  pleasantly. 

14  Thank  you  for  talking  to  Roll,  Miss  Fenton,  and  help- 
ing him  to  be  good.  He  is  sorry,  I  think,  and  I  hope  this 
painful  lesson  will  teach  him  to  be  lesa  mischievous.  But 
i.trvv  you  look  very  unfit  to  be  up.  You  have  done  us  all 


r>E.  1.7? 

good  service  to-day,  and  w<  'nHy  grateful. 

Let  me  help  you  back  to  your  room. " 

I  was  very  much  astonished  at  this  civility,  but  I  de- 
clined her  assistance,  and  wished  Rolf  good-night.  I  was 
still  more  surprised  when  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  You  must  be  careful  of  yourself,  Miss  Fenton,  for  my 
sister's  sake/'  she  said,  so  kindly  that  I  could  hardly  be- 
lieve it  was  Mrs.  Markham's  voice. 

I  marveled  at  her  manner  greatly  as  I  "retraced  my  steps 
to  the  night  nursery.  She  was  really  grateful  to  me,  I 
could  see  that.  Probably  she  realized  that  my  prompt 
action  had  sfcved  her  and  her  boy  a  life-time  of  regret.  To 
extinguish  life  accidentally  must  be  a  bitter  and  sore  retro- 
spect to  any  human  mind.  Rolf's  boyhood  would  have 
been  shadowed  if  his  little  cousin's  death  had  laid  at  his 
door. 

I  tried  to  cheer  myself  with  these  thoughts  as  I  laid 
awake  through  the  greater  part  of  that  long  summer's 
night.  1  could  only  sleep  by  snatches,  and  my  dreams 
were  full  of  pain.  1  imagined  myself  a  martyr  at  Smith- 
field,  and  that  the  fagots  were  lighted  about  my  feet.  I 
could  see  the  flames  curling  up  round  me,  and  feel  their 
scorching  breath  on  my  fate.  Excruciating  pain  seemed 
to  tingle  in  my  veins;  I  cried  out  and  woke  Joyce,  and 
then  the  misery  of  my  burns  kept  me  restless*  I  was  quite 
ill  the  next  day,  and  could  not  stir  from  my  bed;  but  Mrs, 
Markham  and  Eolf  came  to  see  me  more  than  once,  fcnd 
Reggie  played  on  my  bed,  and  was  so  dear  and  good,  and 
Joyce  kept  creeping  up  to  me  to  know  what  she  could  do 
for  nurse,  and  every  two  or  three  hours  Gay's  bright  face 
seemed  to  bring  sunshine  into  the  room. 

She  had  always  some  pleasant  thing  to  tell  me:  a  kind 
inquiry  from  Mr.  Hawtry,  and  some  flowers  and  fruit  that 
Mrs.  Cornish  had  arranged ;  a  book  from  the  vicar's  wife, 
tfho  had  been  very  shocked  to  hear  of  the  accident,  antf 
thought  I  wanted  amusement;  a  message  from  Squire 


178  MEliLE's    CEUSADE. 

Cheriton,  with  a  basket  of  fine  yellow  plums  that  he  had 
picked  himself;  and,  later  in  the  evening,  a  tin  of  cream 
and  some  jiew -laid  eggs  from  Wheeler's  Farm,  that  Molly 
had  brought  herself. 

I  begged  to  see  Molly,  and  she  came  up  at  once,  looking 
very  respectable  in  her  Sunday  gown  and  straw  bonnet 
crossed  with  yellow  ribbons.  She  shook  hands  heartily 
until  I  winced  with  pain,  and  then  begged  my  pardon  for 
her  carelessness. 

"  Thank  you  so  much  for  your  delicious  present, 
Molly,"  I  said,  gratefully.  ^ 

"  Oh,  please  don't  mention  it,  Miss  Fenton;  it  is  pleas- 
ure to  me  and  father  to  send  it,  and  father's  duty;  and 
there  is  a  chicken  fattening  that  will  be  all  ready  for  eat- 
ing on  Thursday;  and  there  is  a-pot  or  two  of  cherry  jam 
that  I  shall  take  the  liberty  to  send  with  it.  It  is  just  for 
the  children  and  yourself,  as  I  shall  tell  Mrs.  Rumble/' 

"  Every  one  is  far  too  good  to  me/'  I  stammered,  and 
the  tears  came  into  my  eyes;  for  the  old  squire  and  Gay 
had  been  so  kind,  and  there  were  all  those  beautiful  flowers 
and  fruit  from  the  Red  Farm,  and  now  this  good  creature 
was  overwhelming  me  with  homely  delicacies.  Molly 
patted  me  with  her  rough  hand,  as  though  1  had  been  a 
child,  and  then  kissed  me  in  her  hearty  way. 

"There,  there,  poor  dear;  who  could  help  being  good 
to  you,  seeing  you  lie  there  as  helpless  as  a  baby,  with  your 
poor  arms  all  done  up  in  cotton  wool,  and  the  pain  hard  to 
bear?  Never  mind,  the  Lord  will  help  you  to  bear  it;  and 
He  knows  what  pain  means/'  And  with  this  homely  con- 
solation Molly  left  me  and  went  m  search  of  Hannah. 

When  Gay  came  to  me  to  see  I  was  all  comfortable  for 
the  night,  I  asked  her  rather  anxiously  if  she  expected  to 
hear  from  Mrs.  Morton  in  the  morning. 

She  looked  as  though  she  were  sorry  I  had  asked  the 
question.  "  Well,  no  —  the  fact  is,  I  wrote  the  letter, 
Merle,  but  father  forgot  to  post  it,  and  it  has  not  gone 


MERLE'S  ci,  17$ 

yet.  I  am  very  sorry,"  as  I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  an- 
noyance, **  but  it  can  not  be  helped,  and  it  was  all  father's 
?ault;  he  is  BO  careless  with  letters;  but  now  Adelaide  has 
written  to  say  how  well  Keggie  seems  to-day,  and  both  of 
them  shall  go  by  the  same  post  to-morrow  morning.  Ben- 
son shall  take  them." 

It  was  no  use  saying  any  more.  Gay  was  sorry,  and  it 
was  not  her  fault,  so  I  only  asked  her  to  add  a  word  or  two 
to  explain  the  delay,  and  this  she  promised  to  do.  She 
wanted  to  write  to  Aunt  Agatha  as  well,  but  I  would  not 
hear  of  this.  Aunt  Agatha  was  very  tender-hearted,  and 
could  not  bear  to  hear  of  any  suffering  that  she  could  not 
remedy,  and  I  could  see  no  benefit  in  harrowing  her  feel- 
ings. I  would  tell  her  myself  one  day. 

Dr.  Staples  had  given  me  a  sedative,  so  I  slept  more 
that  night,  but  it  was  three  days  before  I  could  leave  my 
bed,  and  all  that  time  we  heard  nothing  of  my  mistress. 
On  the  fourth  day  I  put  on  a  dressing-gown  Gay  lent  me, 
with  loose  hanging  sleeves,  for  my  arms  were  still  swathed 
like  mummies,  but  the  pain  had  lessened;  and  though  I 
was  weak  enough  only  to  lean  back  in  an  easy-chair  and 
watch  the  children  at  their  play,  I  liked  to  be  with  them, 
and  it  was  pleasant  to  sit  by  the  nursery  window  and  look 
out  on  the  terrace  and  sun-dial  and  the  sunny  orchard, 
with  the  old  white  pony  grazing  as  usual. 

Gay  had  come  up  that  morning  with  rather  a  troubled 
face.  They  had  had  a  letter  from  Alick,  she  said,  but  he 
had  not  received  either  hers  or  Adelaide's.  Violet  had 
seemed  so  ill  that  he  had  taken  her  home  to  Prince's  Gate, 
that  Dr.  Myrtle  might  see  her.  They  had  left  Abergeldie 
before  their  letters  had  arrived,  and  he  could  not  possibly 
receive  them  until  the  next  morning,  but  of  course  they 
would  be  forwarded  at  once. 

I  was  much  distressed  to  h^ar  that  the  letters  had  mis- 
carried, and  still  more  that  my  mistress  was  ill.  It  was 
dreary  taking  her  back  to  that  areat  emDty  house;  bat 


ISO 

then  Dr.  Myrtle  understood  her  constitution,  and  would  do 
.her  more  good  than  a  stranger,  I  begged  Gay  to  tell  me 
what  was  the  matter,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  know.  It 
was  a  collapse,  Alick  had  said,  a  sudden  serious  failure  of 
strength;  he  had  written  very  hurriedly,  and  seemed 
worried  and  anxious. 

"  1  wish  I  need  not  have  told  you  all  this,  Merle, "  she 
finished.  "  It  has  made  you  paler  than  you  were  before. 
Violet- has  never  been  strong  since  Reggie  was  born,  but  I 
do  not  see  that  there  is  any  need  for  special  anxiety.  But 
though  Gay  insisted  on  taking  a  cheerful  view  of  things,  I 
could  not  bring  my  spirits  to  her  level.  1  felt  nervous  and 
unaccountably  depressed.  I  had  not  sufficiently  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  the  accident  to  bear  the  least  suspense 
with  equanimity.  In  spite  of  iny  efforts  to  be  quiet  and 
self -controlled,  1  grew  restless  and  irritable;  the  least  noise 
jarred  on  me;  it  was  a  relief  when  Hannah  took  the  chil- 
dren out  and  1  had  the  nursery  to  myself.  My  nervous 
fancies  haunted  my  dreams  that  night,  and  1  woke  so  un- 
refreshed  that  Gay  scolded  me  for  not  getting  better  more 
quickly,  and  pretended  to  laugh  at  my  dismal  face  when  I 
heard  there  was  no  letter  from  Mr.  Morton. 

"It  is  nonsense  your  fretting  about  those  letters, 
Merle,"  she  said,  in  her  brisk  way.  "  Alick  has  them  by 
this  time,  and  we  shall  hear  from  him  before  evening- 
Do,  pray,  pull  yourself  together,  and  I  will  ask  Doctot* 
Staples  if  a  drive  will  not  do  you  good;  your  in-door  life 
does  not  suit  you. " 

1  did  not  contradict  her,  but  I  felt  there  would  be  no 
drive  for  me  that  day;  perfect  quiet  and  rest  were  all  I 
wanted,  and  I  knew  Dr.  Staples  would  be  of  my  opinion. 
The  afternoon  was  showery,  so  the  children  played  abouf 
the  nursery.  I  did  not  admit  Rolf,  for  his  noisy  ways 
would  have  been  too  much  for  me,  but  he  was  very  good, 
and  promised  to  stay  with  -Tudson  if  he  might  come  to  me 
i  little  in  the  evening 


MERLE'S    CRUSADE.  181 

I  had  gone  into  the  night  nursery  to  lie  down  for  an 
nour  when  I  heard  footsteps  coming  down  the  passage. 
The  next  moment  I  heard  Mr.  Morton's  voice  speaking  to 
Gay. 

'4  You  can  go  in  and  see  the  children,  Alick/'  she  said, 
l*  and  1  will  join  you  directly,  when  Adelaide  has  finished 
with  me;"  and  then  Joyce  called  out  "  Fardie,"  and  I 
could  hear  Reggie  stumping  across  the  floor. 

I  waited  a  few  minutes  before  I  made  my  appearance. 
Much  as  I  longed  to  see  Mr.  Moiton,  I  thought  he  would 
rather  meet  his  children  alone.  I  almost  felt  as  though  I 
intruded  when  I  opened  the  door.  Hannah  was  not  there, 
and  he  was  sitting  in  my  rocking-chair  with  Reggie  in  his 
arms,  and  his  head  was  bowed  down  on  the  little  fellow's 
whoulder.  He  started  up  when  he  heard  me,  but  I  never 
«aw  him  look  so  pale  and  agitated.  I  knew  then  that  hw 
was  a  man  of  strong  feelings,  that  his  children  were  more 
to  him  than  I  had  dreamed. 

"  Miss  Fenton,"  he  began,  and  then  he  bit  his  lips  and 
turned  away  to  the  window.  I  saw  he  could  hardly  speak, 
and  there  was  Reggie  patting  his  face  and  calling  "  Fada, 
facia,"  to  make  him  smile. 

"  Reggie  is  quite  well,"  I  said,  feeling  the  silence  awk- 
ward. 

'*  Yes,  yes,"  quite  abruptly,  "I  see  he  is;  thank  God 
for  that  mercy ;  but,  Miss  Fenton,  you  have  suffered  in  his 
stead.  You  are  looking  ill,  unlike  yourself.  What  am  I 
t:>  say  to  you?  How  am  I  to  thank  you?" 

"  Please  do  not  say  anything  to  me/'  I  returned,  on  the 
verge  of  crying.  "  Dear  little  Reggie  is  all  right,  and  I 
am  only  too  thankful.  Tell  me  about  my  mistress,  Mr. 
Morton;  we  are  all  so  anxious  about  her." 

I  thought  he  looked  a  little  strangely  at  me.  He  held 
out  his  hand  without  speaking.  That  hearty  grasp  spoke 
volumes.  Then  he  cleared  his  throat  and  said,  quickly, 
"  She  do-  now:  I  have  not  told  hrr:  she  is  very 


I8&  .  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

weak  and  ill.  Doctor  Myrtle  says  we  must  take  great  care 
of  her;  she  has  been  overexerting  herself.5' 

To  my  dismay  and  his  I  burst  into  tears,  but  I  was  not 
quite  myself,  liable  to  be  upset  by  a  word. 

"  Oh,  she  is  always  overexerting  herself;  she  does  more 
every  day  than  her  strength  will  allow,"  I  cried,  almost 
hysterically.  "It  makes  one's  heart  ache  to  see  her  so 
worn  out  and  yet  so  patient.  Oh,  Mr.  Morton,  do  let  me 
come  home  and  nurse  her;  she  is  never  happy  without  the 
children;  it  will  do  her  good  to  see  them;  she  frets  after 
them  too,  and  it  makes  her  ill.  Do  let  me  come  home; 
there  is  nothing  1  would  not  do  for  her." 

I  heard  him  beg  me  to  be  calm.  1  was  ill  myself,  I 
heard  him  say,  and  no  wonder;  and  he  looked  pityingly  at 
my  bandages. 

"  I  only  wish  you  could  come  back  to  us,  Miss  Fenton," 
he  went  on,  so  kindly  that  I  was  ashamed  of  giving  way  so. 
"  The  home  feels  very  empty,  and  I  think  it  would  do  my 
dear  wife  good  to  have  the  children's  feet  pattering  over- 
head. She  is  too  weak  to  have  them  with  her  just  now, 
but  it  would  be  pleasant  to  know  they  were  near." 

1  pleaded  again  that  we  might  come  home,  and  he 
smiled  indulgently. 

"  You  must  get  well  first,"  he  said,  gently,  "  and  then 
I  will  come  and  fetch  you  all  back  myself.  Just  now  you 
require  nursing,  and  are  better  where  you  are;  and  it  is 
still  hot  in  London,  and  the  sea  breezes  will  benefit  the. 
children  a  little  longer.  Come,  you  will  be  sensible  about 
this,  MissFenton." 

And  then,  as  Gay  joined  us,  he  turned  to  her  and  reiter- 
ated his  opinion  that  I  must  stay  at  Marshlands  until  I 
was  well. 

Of  course  Gay  agreed  with  him;  but  I  thought  she  was 
a  little  graver  than  usual.  1  knew  Mr.  Morton  was  right. 
I  was  no  use  to  any  one  just  now;  but,  all  the  same,  it 
made  me  feel  very  unhappy  to  see  him  go  away  and  leave 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  183 

us  behind.  He  could  not  stay  any  longer,  he  said,  for  fear 
of  arousing  his  wife's  suspicions.  He  should  just  tell  her 
he  had  run  down  to  have  a  peep  at  the  children;  that 
would  please  her,  he  knew.  He  bade  me  good-bye  very 
kindly,  and  told  me  to  keep  up  my. courage,  and  not  lose 
heart.  I  could  see  he  was  not  vexed  with  me  for  giving 
way.  No. doubt  he  attributed  it  all  to  weakness. 

I  sat  down  and  had  a  good  cry  when  he  had  left  us,  and 
there  was  no  denying  that  I  was  homesick  that  night,  and 
wanted  Aunt  Agatha.  I  felt  a  poor  creature  in  my  own 
estimation.  Perhaps  I  was  impatient:  Dr.  Staples  told 
me  I  was,  and  his  eyes  twinkled  as  he  said  it;  but  it  seemed 
to  me  1  recovered  very  slowly.  The  burns  were  healing 
nicely;  in  a  few  more  days  I  could  put  on  my  dress  and 
enjoy  the  country  drives;  but  I  did  not  resume  my  usual 
duties  for  some  time. 

I  could  not  dress  and  undress  the  children;  walking 
tired  me;  and  my  spirits  were  sadly  variable.  The  news 
from  Prince's  Gate  did  not  cheer  me:  my  mistress  con- 
tinued in  the  same  unsatisfactory  state.  Mr.  Morton 
wrote  every  day,  and  both  Mrs.  Markham  and  Gay  had 
gone  up  to  town  for  a  few  hours.  I  heard  more  from  Mrs. 
Markham  than  from  Gay.  She  thought  her  sister  looking 
very  ill,  and  considered  there  was  grave  cause  for  anxiety. 
She  had  an  excellent  nurse,  and  her  husband  was  most  de- 
voted in  his  attentions;  she  had  never  seen  any  one  to 
equal  him.  Here  Mrs.  Markham  sighed;  but  her  sister 
looked  dull  and  depressed,  and  she  thought  she  missed  the 
children. 

The  bright  September  days  passed  away  very  slowly.  I 
was  growing  weary  of  my  banishment;  and  yet  Marshlands 
and  Netherton  had  become  very  dear  to  me,  and  1  had 
grown  to  love  the  quaint  old  nursery.  I  was  thankful 
when  my  strength  permitted  me  to  resume  our  mornings 
on  the  beach  and  our  afternoons  in  the  orchard.  I  felt 
out-of  '"ioors,  and  I  liked  to  have  Rolf  with  m«. 


184  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

I  saw  very  little  of  Gay;  just  then  she  was  busy  with  par- 
ish work.  I  heard  from  her  casually  one  day  that  Mr. 
Haw  try  had  gone  to  Italy.  I  suppose  1  looked  astonished; 
for  she  said,  quickly: 

' '  He  called  the  other  afternoon  and  asked  to  see  the 
children,  but  Adelaide  had  taken  you  all  for  a  drive.  *1 
thought  he  seemed  a  little  sorry  not  to  say  good-bye  to 
them,  as  he  expected  to  be  away  some  time .  He  hoped 
you  were  better,  Merle,  and  desired  his  kind  regards. " 

**  And  he  has  gone  to  Italy?" 

k£  Yes;  a  young  cousin  of  his  is  lying  dangerously  ill  at 
Venice,  and  so  this  Don  Quixote  has  started  off  to  see  after 
him.  It  is  just  like  him;  he  is  always  doing  things  for 
other  people. "  And  with  this  speech  she  left  me. 

I  was  sorry  not  to  say  good-bye  to  Mr.  Hawtry;  he  had 
been  very  kind  to  us,  and  it  seemed  such  a  pity  that  we 
had  missed  him  that  afternoon.  I  often  thought  aooufc 
our  visit  to  the  Red  Farm,  and  how  pleasant  and  hos- 
pitable he  had  been.  It  seemed  rather  tantalizing  just  to 
make  friends  (and  he  had  always  been  so  friendly  to  me), 
and  then  not  to  see  them  again;  but  perhaps  next  summer 
we  should  come  down  to  Marshlands  again. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BACK  AT  PRINCE'S  GATE. 

MORE  than  a  fortnight  had  elapsed  since  Mr.  Morton's 
visit,  when  one  morning  we  received  a  telegram  from  him. 
He  was  coming  down  the  next  day  to  fetch  us,  and  told  us 
by  what  train  we  were  to  start. 

Gay  had  quite  a  sorrowful  expression  on  her  face  as  she 
brought  it  up  to  me. 

"  You  are  really  going,  Merle,  and  1,  shall  miss  you 
dreadfully;  it  has  been  such  a  comfort  to  me  to  come  up 
here  and  talk  to  you.  You  are  such  a  sensible,  comfort- 


MERLE'S  ORCSAOE.  186 

.-ort  of  person,  and  I  don't  know  what  1  shall  do  with- 
out you. " 

It  was  very  nice  to  hear  this,  and  to  know  people  would 
miss  me.  Poor  Rolf  would,  I  knew,  and  he  came  up  pres- 
ently, looking  glum  and  miserable. 

"I  wish  I  were  going  too,  Fenny,"  he  observed,  feel- 
ingly. "  If  Aunt  Violet  were  not  so  very  ill,  1  should 
write  to  her  and  ask  her  to  invite  me.  You  will  ask  her 
yourself  when  she  is  better ?"  very  coaxingly. 

''We  will  see  about  that,  Rolf  dear.  But  just  now  1 
am  very  busy.  Look  at  all  those  things  to  be  packed. " 

"  Yes,  I  know/*  regarding   them   carelessly.      "  And 
Hannah  is  in  there,  crying — because  of  leaving  Molly,  you 
know.     You  ought  to  cry  at  leaving  me,  Fenny." 
*    "  Well,  I  am  sure,  Master  Rolf!"  and  J  pretended  not 
to  see  his  lip  was  quivering. 

"Don't  laugh  at  me!"  stamping  his  foot.  ;'  1  can't 
bear  it.  I  don't  want  you  to  go."  And  here  followed  a 
hug.  "  You  were  always  so  dreadfully  nice,  even  mother 
says  so  now.  It  was  worth  being  burned,  to  make  mother 
say  that,  Fenny." 

**  I  don't  know  about  that,  dear/'  remembering  those 
weary  nights  of  pain. 

k<  Oh,  yes,  it  w^/'  he  assured  me,  still  holding  me 
tight.  "  You  would  be  burned  over  again  to  see  me  like 
Gassy — what  do  you  call  him? — that  awfully  jolly  fellow, 
you  know. "  And  then,  indeed,  I  felt  a  curious  smart  in 
my  eyes  as  I  kissed  Rolf's  forehead. 

"  Yon  are  right,  dear;  that  would  be  worth  any  pain. 
Oh,  Rolf,  do  try  to  be  like  him!" 

"  All  right,  Fenny,"  spoken  very  cheerfully;  "  you 
shall  see."  Anil  then  he  stamped  again,  and  broke  into  a 
whistle;  but  I  knew  wHat  he  meant,  aud  that  his  little 
heart  was  full,  and  I  held  him  very  tightly  for  a  moment, 
aud  whispered  something  that  I  thought  he  would  like  to 


186  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

hear,  and  then  he  broke  away  from  me,  and  1  did  not  oae 
•him  again  for  a  long  time. 

I  sent  Hannah  to  Wheeler's  Farm  to  spend  her  last 
evening  with  Molly.  I  knew  Susan  would  help  rue,  and  I 
was  not  sorry  to  tire  myself  a  little,  for  last  hours  are 
always  somewhat  trying,  and  though  I  was  longing  with 
all  iny  heart  to  be  back  in  the  old  nursery  at  Prince's 
Gate,  I  could  not  bid  good-bye  tc  Gay  and  Rolf  and  Marsh- 
lands wilhotit  regret.  But  when  1  saw  Mr.  Morton's  care- 
worn face  the  next  morning  I  forgot  everything  but  my 
mistress;  yet  I  thought  that  he  answered  my  inquiries 
rather  hastily. 

She  was  better,  Dr.  Myrtle  said,  certainly  better,  but 
the  improvement  was  not  much  as  yet.  He  had  been 
obliged  to  tell  her  about  Reggie's  accident;  she  had  begged 
to  have  the  children  home,  and  nothing  would  satisfy  her 
until  she  heard  Itwas  fit  to  travel.  He  had  come  for  us 
the  first  day  he  could,  because  he  knew  how  she  wanted 
us.  After  this  I  was  only  anxious  to  start. 

Gay  accompanied  us  to  the  station,  but  Rolf  bid  me  an 
affectionate  good-bye  on  the  terrace,  in  the  presence  of  his 
mother  and  the  squire.  I  think  she  seemed  touched  at  .his 
trouble,  for  she  put  her  arm  round  him,  and  kept  him 
close  to  her  as  she  bid  me  a  kindly  adieu. 

Squire  Cheriton  shook  hands  with  me,  and  1  saw  Susan 
hovering  in  the  background  behind  Mrs.  Rumble,  and 
looking  as  though  she  was  sorry  too. 

I  looked  back  regretfully  at  the  old  red-brick  house. 
There  was  the  peacock  on  the  sun-dial  as  usual,  and  Roll 
shading  his  eyes  on  the  sunny  terrace,  and  the  old  white 
pony  looking1  at  us  over  the  gate,  the  brown  bees  humming 
over  the  flower-beds;  the  reapers  were  in  the  golden  corn- 
fields across  the  lane,  we  could  hear  their  voices  coming  to 
us;  it  all  looked  so  quiet  and  peaceful,  and  we  had  passed 
such  happy  days  there. 

I  could  see  Hannah  was  quietly  crying  behind  Reggia 


CRUSADE,  18? 

It  was  bad  for  her,  poor  girl,  to  say  good-bye  to  her  father 
and  Molly,  not  to  mention  Luke  Armstrong;  and  I  was 
very  glad,  for  her  sake,  when  we  reached  the  Nethertoa 
Station,  to  see  Molly's  homely  features  under  her  white 
sun-bonnet  as  she  stood  waiting  for  us  in  the  road,  with 
red-headed  Dan  beside  her. 

She  grasped  niy  hand  cordially. 

"You  are  looking  more  yourself,  Miss  Fenton;  I  am 
kindly  glad  to  see  that.  Father  will  be  fine  and  proud  to 
see  you  next  year  at  Wheeler's  Farm.  Why,  Hannah, 
lass,  hast  been  crying?  Hold  your  head  up,  girl,  and  look 
it  in  the  face.  Luke  is  worth  waiting  for,  if  he  is  worth 
having  at  all;  only  young  folks  are  so  mighty  hasty. 
There,  the  lad  has  sent  you  this  bifc  of  a  posy,  and  Da'a 
there  has  a  young  linnet  for  Miss  Fenton  to  train.  I  have 
made  so  bold  as  to  put  in  a  basket  with  cream  and  eggs, 
and  a  bottle  of  elderberry  wine.  Nay,  no  thanks;  Han- 
nah's friends  are  our  friends.  Good-bye,  and  a  pleasant 
journey. "  And  the  good  creature  wrung  our  hands,  and 
dragged  reluctant  Dan  away. 

Gay's  good-bye  followed. 

"  We  shall  meet  again  soon,  Merle;  it  will  not  be  good- 
bye for  long.  I  am  coming  up  to  stay  with  Violet  before 
Christmas,  and  then  we  shall  have  some  nice  times  to- 
gether." Then  she  kissed  the  children,  waved  her  hand 
gayly  as  the  train  moved  down  the  platform,  and  the 
pretty  smiling  face  disappeared  from  our  view. 

Mr.  Morton  was  very  silent  during  the  journey.  He 
had  Joyce  beside  him,  and  now  and  then  he  spoke  to  her, 
but  his  face  wore  a  gloomy,  absent  expression;  he  seemed 
troubled  and  ill  at  ease,  and  I  remembered  a  speech  of 
Gay's,  "  that  Alick  never  seemed  the  Eame  man  when  any- 
thing was  the  matter  with  Violet." 

It  nras  still  early  in  the  afternoon  when  we  drove  up  Ex* 
hibition  Koad.  t)own  c,t  Jfetherton  the  golden  blades  of 
eero  were  falling  beneath  the  reaping  machine,  the 


188  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

were  washing  up  against  the  beach,  and  the  children  were 
out  picking  flowers  in  the  long,  scented  lanes.  Now,  in- 
stead of  fresh,  salt  breezes,  a  fine  eddying  dust  blew  in  our 
faces,  carriages  and  cabs  jostled  each  other  in  the  sunny 
road,  crowds  of  people,  making  their  way  to  the  museum 
or  art-gallery  or  exhibition,  blocked  up  the  wide  pave- 
ments. There  were  the  gutter  merchants  driving  their 
noisy  trade,  itinerant  fruit-sellers,  and  flower-girls  vaunfc- 
ing  stale  and  withered  wares,  dusty  plebeians  glancing 
critically  at  the  grand  patrician  houses,  most  c*  them  still 
closed  and  shuttered.  Dives  was  still  on  Scottish  moors, 
or  in  English  country  houses,  or  seeking  health  on  the 
Engadine;  but  Lazarus  still  dwelt  at  his  closed  gates,  and 
displayed  his  festering  sores  to  the  careless  passers-by. 

1  watched  it  all  mechanically,  but  far  different  pictures 
rose  to  my  recollection  unbidden:  the  gnarled  old  apple- 
trees  in  the  orchard  at  Marshlands,  with  the  bench  on 
which  more  than  one  generation  of.  children  had  carved 
their  names;  Wheeler's  Farm,  with  its  trough  set  under 
the  mossy  pear-tree,  and  Molly,  in  her  sun-bonnet,  feeding 
her  poultry;  then,  a  red-brick  bpuse,  with  a  stone  porch, 
that  sheltered  us  from  the  driving  rain.  There  was  a 
privet  hedge,  and  a  walnut-tree,  and  an  old-fashioned 
bowling-green  in  that  last  picture;  reminiscences  of  a  dis- 
used room,  with  a  blue  couch,  and  a  faint  smell  of  rose 
pourri. 

"  Here  we  are,  Miss  Fenton,"  observed  Mr.  Morton, 
briskly;  and  1  started  and  shook  off  these  recollections 
hastily.  Was  I  in  a  day-dream,  I  wonder?  There  was  the 
open  hall  door,  and  Anderson's  grave,  imperturbable  face, 
and  Travers  behind  him  with  a  message  from  her  mistress 
to  Mr.  Morton  that  he  should  go  up  to  her  at  once. 

I  do  not  think  Hannah  was  half  so  pleased  as  1  was  to 
see  the  old  nursery  again;  it  looked  brighter  and  largei 
than  ever  this  afternoon  after  the  low-ceiled  room  at 
Marshlands.  The  canaries  were  singing  their  loudest;  the 


MERLE'  DK.  189 

Persian  kitten  came  up  to  us,  purring  a  u 
was  as  fussy  with  joy  as  possible,  and  licked  us  indiscrimi- 
nately; there  were  fresh  flowers  on  the  table,  a  new,  softlj 
cushioned  chair  by  the  window,  and  a  letter  from  Aunt 
Agatha  on  the  little  table  beside  it. 

I  could  not  help  sitting  down  to  read  it  at  once,  for  I 
felt  it  would  be  such  a  sweet  welcome  home.  It  was  more 
than  that,  however;  it  told  me  something  which  surprised 
me  greatly.  Mr.  Morton  had  called  himself  the  previous 
day,  and  had  told  Aunt  Agatha  all  about  Reggie's  acci- 
dent. No  doubt  he  had  expressed  himself  very  kindly, 
else  why  should  Aunt  Agatha  be  praising  me  in  that  way? 
The  tears  came  to  my  eyes  as  I  read  those  loving  sen- 
tences. "  Come  to  me  as  soon  as  you  can,  dear  child/'  it 
finished.  "  I  shall  not  be  quite  happy  or  comfortable 
until  I  have  seen  you  and  talked  it  all  over.  Your  uncle 
is  as  proud  of  you  as  1  am.  He  said  just  now,  *  I  always 
though!?  that  girl  had  plenty  of  pluck/  You  know  that 
was  high  praise  from  him." 

I  needed  Auni  Agatha's  letter  to  cheer  me  that  evening, 
for  I  was  not  allowed  to  see  my  mistress.  Mr.  Morton 
came  up  himself  to  fetch  the  children,  and  then  he  told 
me  that  I  must  wait  until  the  morning.  "  We  must  not 
excite  her,  and  the  children  will  be  enough  for  to-day,"  he 
said;  and  no  doubt  he  was  right.  Travers  told  me  after- 
ward that  she  had  cried  a  great  deal  on  first  seeing  Reggie. 

But  the  next  morning  Travers  came  to  fetch  me.  Mrs. 
Morton  was  in  her  dressing-room.  It  was  a  large,  lux- 
uriously furnished  apartment,  and  had  evidently  been  fitted 
up  with  much  care,  and  as  it  was  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  the  windows  overlooked  the  public  garden,  it  was 
quiet  enough  to  suit  an  invalid. 

But  my  heart  sunk  when  I  first  saw  my  mistress;  she 
was  not  less  beautiful,  but  her  beauty  had  assumed  a  new- 
character.  Her  face  was  pinched  and  thin,  and  there  was 
*  sunken  look  about  the  eyes;  but  when  she  stretched  oat 


190  MERLE'S  CRUSADB. 

her  hands  to  me  with  her  old  lovely  sin^e,  I  had  not  a 
word  to  say. 

"  Sifc  there  where  1  can  see  you,  Merle,"  she  said,  in  a 
weak  voice.  ",  Ah,  there  are  tears  in  your  eyes;  but  iu^ 
deed  you  need  not  be  unhappy  about  me  now.  1  have 
been  very,  very  ill,  but  1  think  God  means  to  spare  me  to 
my  husband  and  children. "  But  I  could  not  control  my 
voice  enough  to  answer;  one  look  had  been  enough  to  tell 
me  that  she  had  been  a  few  steps  at  least  down  the  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 

'  You  are  all  too  anxious  about  me/'  she  went  on. 
"  My  dear  husband  has  almost  fretted  himself  ill.  We 
can  not  tell  for  some  months  how  it  may  be  with  me,  but 
I  am  not  afraid;  I  have  only  to  be  very  patient,  and  lie 
still,  you  know;  that  is  no  punishment  to  me.  1  am 
always  so  lazy  and  tired. " 

She  tried  to  speak  with  her  old  playfulness,  but  failed. 

"  Ah/'  ~she  said,  and  now  her  voice  trembled,  "you 
have  saved  my  life  as  well  as  Reggie's.  I  could  not  have 
borne  to  lose  another  child  just  now;  I  was  too  weak  for 
that.  No,  1  am  not  going  to  thank  you,  Merle;  I  have  no 
words  at  all.  If  I  live— and  I  think  I  shall— you  will  see 
what  I  feel,  you  will  understand  it  then. " 

I  asked  her  not  to  say  any  more,  but  she  begged  to  see 
my  scars.  It  was  not  easy  to  refuse  her  anything,  but  1 
was  sorry  such  a  thing  entered  her  thoughts;  but  she 
looked  at  them  very  calmly. 

"  Yes,  you  have  suffered  instead  of  my  child.  I  shall 
never  forget  that,  neither  will  Alick.  It  has  pulled  you 
down,  Merle;  you  have  lost  your  rosy  looks.  What  will 
Mrs.  Keith  say?  You  must  go  to  her  to-morrow;  Mrs, 
Garnett  will  look  after  Reggie." 

It  was  her  old  thoughtf ulnesa  for  me,  and  I  showed  her 
I  was  grateful,  and  then  I  talked  to  her  a  little  about 
Marshlands.  I  told  her  how  fond  I  was  of  Gay,  how  good 


MERLE'S    CRUSADE.  19i 

and  tmsalfiBh  I  thought  her,  and  how  much  I  cared  for 
Bolf. 

**Mrs.  Markham  is  quite  changed  to  me/9 1  -finished; 
'*  she  is  perfectly  kind  in  her  manner.-" 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Merle;  Adelaide  is  very  grateful  to  you, 
and  no  wonder.  She  tells  me  she  has  made  a  mistake; 
that  you  are  different  from  what  she  thought.  That  is  a 
good  deal  for  Adelaide  to  say;  it  is  difficult  for  her  to  like 
people.  Still — but  do  go  on  about  Nether  ton;  I  do  love 
to  hear  about  my  old  home. " 

I  could  see  she  was  cheered  and  interested,  so  I  told  her 
about  our  visit  to  the  Red  Farm.  She  seemed  quite 
pleased  at  that. 

"  We  are  all  so  fond  of  Roger/'  she  said;  "  Mr.  Haw- 
try,  I  mean;  but,  you  know,  we  were  playfellows  as  chil- 
dren. He  was  so  devoted  to  his  sister  Agnes;  I  never 
knew  such  a  brother;  but  he  is  good  in  everything." 

It  could  not  have  been  my  mistress's  manner,  for  she 
was  always  so  simple  and  unconscious,  and  she  was  one  of 
those  rare  women  who  treat  all  such  matters  as  sacred;  but 
all  at  once  the  idea  flashed  into  my  mind  that  perhaps  this 
was  why  Mr.  Hawtry  was  unmarried..  What  put  such  a 
thought  into  my  mind  I  never  knew;  these  sudden  intui- 
tions are  baffling;  but  there  it  was,  startling  me  with  its 
verisimilitude  of  truth — that  in  the  old  days,  when  Violet 
Cheriton  was  young,  Mr.  Hawtry  must  have  cared  for  her. 

I  knew  afterward,  when  much  was  made  clear  to  me, 
that  such  was  the  case,  but  that  he  had  never  told  her  so; 
he  had  waited  and  hoped,  until  Alick  Morton  found  his 
way  to  Marshlands.  If  he  had  suffered,  no  one  knew  it; 
his  manhood  had  strength  enough  to  bear  disappointment 
without  growing  sour  over  it;  pain  well  borne  brings  its 
own  healing,  and  so  it  was  in  his  case. 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Morton  wondered  a  little  over  my  silenca 
for  she  said  nothing  more  about  Mr.  Hawtry,  and  I  went 
on  to  tell  her  about  Wheeler's  Farm  and  Molly,  until  the 


i9f  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

nurse  came  in  and  saift  my  mistress  had  talked  enough, 
and  then  she  dismissed  me  very  kindly. 

Later  on  in  the  day  I  was  summoned  to  Mr,  Morton's 
library.  I  was  rather  surprised  at  this,  until  I  remem- 
bered that  Hannah  was  always  in  the  nursery,  and  that 
probably  he  wished  to  speak  to  me  alone. 

I  found  this  was  the  case. 

He  was  busy  writing  when  1  entered,  and  he  begged  me 
to  sit  down  for  a  moment  until  he  had  finished.  I  thought 
he  looked  a  little  more  cheerful,  and  his  face  had  lost  that 
worried,  anxious  expression. 

Presently  he  turned  to  me  with  a  smile. 

"  Now  for  a  chat,  Miss  Fenton.  Do  you  know,  Doctor 
Myrtle  thinks  my  wife  decidedly  better  to-day;  the  chil- 
dren have  done  her  good,  and  she  says  she  has  enjoyed  her 
talk  with  you.  Doctor  Myrtle  particularly  wishes  her  to 
be  kept  happy  and  amused.  We  have  all  pulled  such  long 
faces  lately,  and  of  course  it  has  done  her  harm.  Now  you 
seem  to  suit  her — you  always  have,  you  know;  and  I  can 
not  help  thinking  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  her  if 
you  could  sit  with  her  sometimes,  and  bring  Joyce  or  Reg- 
gie. That  would  be, cheerful  for  her,  eh,  Miss  Fenton?" 

'*'  It  could  easily  be  managed/'  I  returned,  with  alacrity, 
for  this  idea  pleased  me  greatly.  "In  the  morning  the 
children  go  out,  but  I  could  'bring  them  down  by  turns  in 
the  afternoon,  and  leave  the  other  child  in  Hannah's 
charge.  I  am  sure  it  would  do  Mrs.  Morton  good  to  see 
Eeggie  playing  about  the  room,  and  Joyce  will  be  quiet 
for  hours  with  her  doll  or  pencil." 

"  Let  it  be  tried,  then,  Regularly,  and  I  will  give  my 
orders  to  nurse, "'he  said,  in  his  quick,  business-like  way. 
Then  all  at  once  he  stopped  and  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  my  wife  this  morning,  Miss 
Fenton?" 

I  told  him  that  I  thought  her  looking  extremely  ilL 
that  fc»'  a  long  time  her  delicacy  had  alarmed  me. 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  193 

"  You  have  not  seen — she  would  not  let  you  see,  1 
mean,"  correcting  myself,  "how  greatly  she  has  over- 
taxed her  strength;  she  has  heen  failing  over  her  day's 
work  some  time,  and  this  illness  is  the  result." 

"That  is  true,"  he  returned,  in  a  low  voice,  and  then 
he  looked  up  in  his  keen  way. 

"Do  you  know  this  for  a  certainty?  Has  she  ever  com- 
plained to  you,  Miss  Fenton?" 

"  Not  in  the  way  you  mean/'  I  replied,  eagerly.  "  My 
mistress  never  complains,  she  is  far  too  patient  for  that, 
but  she  has  let  me  see  plainly  that  so  much  gayety  wearies 
her,  that  she  feels  far  too  tired  to  go  out  night  after  night. 
I  am  sure  a  quieter  life,  spent  more  with  her  children, 
would  be  better  for  her  health." 

1  was  half  afraid  I  had  said  too  much,  as  I  saw  him  knit 
his  brow  and  his  face  grow  dark  with  anxiety. 

"Oh,  but  that  is  impossible,"  he  said,  quickly,  almost 
impatiently.  "  In  our  position  a  quiet  life  is  impossible. 
There  are  social  duties  that  must  be  done:  you  must  see 
that  for  yourself,  Miss  Fenton.  I  would  gladly  insure  rest 
for  my  wife  if  I  could,  hut  I  must  see  what  is  to  be  done. " 

I  saw  that  he  meant  to  dismiss  me,  but  I  lingered  for  a 
moment.  I  was  afraid  he  was  displeased  with  me,  but 
when  I  hinted  this  he  looked  at  me  quite  astonished. 

"Oh,  no,  1  am  not  at  all  put  out  by  what  you  said;  i 
am  only  busy;  and  of  course  my  wife's  illness  is  a  great 
anxiety.  On  the  contrary,  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  in- 
terest. It  is  quite  true  what  you  said — 1  see  it  for  myself; 
but  1  can  not  decide  what  is  to  be  done. "  And  then  I  left 
th$  room,  feeling  easier  in  my  mind.  I  could  not  have 
borne  to  pain  Mr.  Morton;  my  respect  and  liking  for  him 
had  increased  very  much  since  my  first  acquaintance  with 
him.  No,  he  was  blind  no  longer;  but,  as  he  said  him- 
self, in  his  position  a  quiet  life  was  almost  an  impossibility. 

But  1  was  yet  to  learn  that  a  strong  will  can  achieve 
what  is  well-nigh  impossible.,  and  UIHL  \vben  Alick  Mortal 


194  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

had  set  himself  to  solve  the  problem  of  his  wife's  overtaxed 
life  he  would  probably  not  be  unsuccessful;  but  first  he 
must  nurse  her  back  to  health. 

1  put  off  my  visit  to  Aunt  Agatha  for  some  days,  that 
we  might  try  Mr.  Morton's  experiment,  and  every  after- 
noon I  took  my  work  and  sat  in  my  mistress's  dressing- 
room,  often  until  evening,  while  Joyce  played  with  her 
dolls  beside  her  mother's  couch,  or  Reggie  trotted  about 
the  room  on  numberless  baby  errands,  learning  new  words 
every  day,  and  rehearsing  them  proudly. 

Mr.  Morton  would  snatch  a  minute  to  look  in  upon  us« 
and  satisfy  himself  that  his  wife  was  not  overfatigued. 

I  think  he  must  often  have  gone  away  with  a  lighter 
heart  when  she  looked  up  at  him  with  her  eyes  shining 
with  happiness,  and  a  tinge  of  color  in  her  face. 

"Our  son  is  growing  quite  a  big  boy,  Alick,"  she  would 
say,  as  Reggie  stumped  up  to  them  with  a  headless  doll  in 
his  arms,  and  she  had  always  some  little  speech  or  anecdote 
to  relate,  to  which  he  would  listen  patiently.  She  might 
talk  about  the  children  as  much  as  she  liked,  but  when 
she  spoke  to  him  of  his  work  he  would  refuse  to  answer. 

"  Never  mind  my  work,  Violet,"  I  heard  him  say  once. 
"  I  want  my  wife  down-stairs  again;  that  is  a  subject 
closer  to  my  heart."  And  I  believed  him.  No  work,  no 
ambition  could  have  replaced  her;  with  all  his  faults,  she 
was  the  dearest  thing  in  life  to  him. 

I  think  all  this  made  her  very  happy,  for  there  was  al- 
ways such  a  contented  look  on  her  face;  so  no  wonder  she 
grew  better  and  stronger. 

"  I  think  illness  teaches  one  to  value  one's  blessings 
more,"  she  said  to  me  one  Sunday  evening,  when  the  chil- 
dren were  in  bed,  and  1  was  still  sitting  with  her.  "  1  am 
afraid  I  have  been  very  discontented,  and  have  wanted  my 
own  way  about  things.  I  used  to  long  for  a  quiet  country 
life;  No,  I  never  said  so,"  as  I  seemed  inclined  to  inter- 
rupt her,  "  but  the  wish  grew  almost  morbid.  Perhaps 


!>E.  195 

my  long  re*t  has  done  me  good,  but  I  do  not  feel  a  bit 
afraid  now;  I  don't  think  I  shall  feel  so  tired  over  it 
again.  I  see  it  is  the  place  Providence  has  intended  for 
me,  and  by  and  by  I  shall  have  a  longer  rest  still. " 

I  saw  what  she  meant;  life  was  strong  within  her,  and 
she  did  not  believe  she  should  die;  she  was  only  girding 
herself  for  the  daily  struggle,  making  up  her  mind  to  fill 
her  place  nobly.  But  I  knew  she  had  no  cause  to  dread 
the  future;  her  husband's  strong  arm  would  interpose  be- 
tween her  and  any  great  difficulties;  she  would  not  sink 
again  because  her  day's  work  was  too  heavy  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

UNCLE   KEITH. 

1  HAD  been  obliged  to  defer  my  visit  -to  Aunt  Agatha  for 
more  than  a  fortnight,  and  it  was  not  until  an  early  day 
in  October  that  I  could  find  a  leisure  afternoon.  I  be- 
lieve that  only  very  busy  and  hard- worked  people  really 
enjoy  a  holiday  —  listless  and  half -occupied  lives  know 
nothing  of  the  real  holiday  feeling  and  the  joyousness  of 
putting  one's  work  aside  for  a  few  hours  of  complete  idle- 
ness. 

I  felt  almost  as  buoyant  and  light-hearted  as  a  child 
when  I  caught  sight  of  the  old  bridge  and  the  gray  towers 
of  All  Saints.  The  river  looked  blue  and  clear  in  the 
October  sunshine;  there  were  barges  floating  idly  down  the 
stream;  a  small  steamer  had  just  started  from  the  tiny 
pier;  two  or  three  clumsy-looking  boats  with  heavy  brown 
sails  were  moored  to  the  shore;  there  was  a  man  in  a  red 
cap  in  one  of  the  boats;  two  or  three  bare-legged  urchins 
were  wading  in  the  water.  There  was  a  line  of  purple 
shadow  in  the  distance,  little  sparkles  of  sunlight  every- 
where, yellow  and  red  leaves  fluttering,  a  little  skifl  with  a 
man  in  white  flannel  coining  rapidly  into  tight,  omnibuses, 
cabs,  heavy  wagons  clattering  over  the  bridge.  Beyond 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

the  white  arches  of  the  new  bridge  the  busy  hum  of 
Workers,  the  heaving  of  great  cranes,  the  toil  and  strain  of 
human  activity. 

The  sight  always  fascinated  me,  and  I  stood  aside  with 
others  to  watch  until  a  well-known  figure  in  the  distance 
recalled  me  with  a  start.  Surely  that  was  Aunt  Agatha 
crossing  the  road  by  the  bridge;  no  one  else  walked  in  that 
way — that  quick,  straightforward  walk,  that  never  seemed 
to  linger  or  hesitate,  that  could  only  belong  to  her.  Yes, 
it  was  she,  for  there  was  the  dear  woman  holding  out  her 
hands  to  me,  with  the  old  kind  smile  breaking  over  her 
face. 

"  1  came  to  meet  you,  Merle;  1  did  not  want  to  lose  one 
minute  of  your  company,  but  I  was  a  little  late  after  alb 
dear  child.  What  a  stranger  you  are,  all  these  months 
that  we  have  not  met!" 

"  It  has  seemed  a  long  time  to  me,  Aunt  Agatha;  so 
much  seems  to  have  happened  since  I  was  last  here." 

"  You  may  well  say  so/'  she  returned,  gravely;  "  we 
have  both  much  for  which  to  be  thankful.  Your  accident, 
Merle,  which  might  have  had  such  grave  results,  and— " 
he-re  she  checked  herself,  but  something  in  her  manner 
seemed  strange  to  me. 

"  We  need  not  walk  quite  so  fast,  surely/'  I  remon- 
strated. "  How  these  people  jostle  one!  and  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  so." 

"  And  I  to  you.  Never  mind,  we  shall  find  a  quiei  cor- 
ner under  the  shadow  of  St.  Mary's.'"  And  as  she  spoke 
we  turned  into  the  narrow  flagged  path  skirting  the 
church,  with  the  tombs  and  gray  old  head-stones  gleaming 
here  and  there.  There  were  fewer  people  here. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  quite  well?"  1  began,  rather 
anxiously.  "  You  are  looking  paler  than  usual,  Aunt 
Agatha,  and,  if  it  be  iiot  my  faucy,  a  little  thinner.  '* 

*"*  Ytf,  and  older,  uud  perhaps  a  trifle  graver/'  she  re- 
,  rather  br»W**  ^^hought  her  cbeerluJueiB  * 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  19? 

liUIe  forced.  "  We  have  not  yet  leanvcl  how  to  grow 
younger,  child.  Well,  if  yon  must  know — and  this  is  why 
I  came  to  meet  you,  that  we  might  have  our  little  talk  to- 
gether— I  have  not  been  without  my  troubles;  your  uncle 
has  been  very  ill,  Merle,  so  ill  that,  at  one  time,  I  feared  I 
might  lose  him;  but  Providence  has  been  good  to  me  and 
spared  my  dear  husband."  And  here  Aunt  Agatha's  voice 
trembled  and  her  eyes  grew  misty. 

I  was  almost  too  shocked  to  answer;  but  my  first  words 
were  to  reproach  her  for  keeping  »ie  in  ignorance. 

f  You  must  not  blame  me,  Merle,"  she  replied,  gently. 
"  I  wanted  you  dreadfully;  I  felt  quite  sore  with  the  long- 
ing to  see  you,  but  I  knew  you  could  not  come  to  me. 
Mrs.  Morton  was  in  Scotland;  you  were  in  sole  charge  of 
those  children.  Unless  things  grew  worse  I  knew  1  had 
no  right  to  summon  you.  Thank  God,  I  was  spared  that 
necessity;  the  danger  only  lasted  forty-eight  hours;  after 
that  he  only  required  all  the  nursing  I  could  give  him. " 

"  Aunt  Agatha,  it  was  not  right;  you  ought  to  have  told 
me." 

"  I  thought  differently,  Merle;  I  put  myself  in  your 
place — you  could  not  desert  your  post,  and  you  would  only 
have  grown  restless  with  the  longing  to  come  and  help  me 
—the  same  feeling  that  made  you  hide  your  accident  from 
me  led  me  to  suppress  my  trouble.  I  should  only  have 
burdened  your  kind  heart,  Merle,  and  spoiled  your  present 
enjoyment.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Let  the  child  be  happy; 
she  will  only  fret  herself  into  a  fever  to  help  me,  and  she 
must  do  her  duty  to  her  employers. '  If  Ezra  had  got 
worse  1  must  have  written;  when  he  grew  better  I  pre- 
ferred telling  you  nothing  until  we  met. " 

"  I  shall  never  trust  you  again!"  I  burst  out,  for  this 
reticence  wounded  me  sorely.  "  How  am  I  to  know  if 
things  are  well  with  you  if  you  are  always  keeping  me 
in  the  dark?" 

"  If  will  not  happen  again,  Merle;  indeed,  my  dear,  I 


198  MEKLE'S 

can  promise  you  that  ifc  shall  never  happen.  If  you  had 
keen  at  Prince's  Gate  I  should  have  summoned  you  at 
once,  but,  in  your  position,  how  could  I  ask  you  to  desert 
your  post,  Merle,  when  those  who  placed  you  there  were 
hundreds  of  miles  away?" 

I  saw  what  she  meant,  and  I  could  not  deny  that  she 
had  kept  me  in  ignorance  for  my  own  peace  of  mind.  It 
was  just  her  unselfishness,  for  I  knew  how  she  must  hav© 
longed  for  me;  we  were  so  much  to  each  other,  we  were  so 
sure  of  mutual  sympathy  and  help.  Aunt  Agatha  cried  a 
little  when  she  saw  how  hurt  ^1  was,  and  then,  of  course,  I 
tried  to  comfort  her,  and  I  very  soon  succeeded.  I  never 
could  bear  to  see  her  unhappy,  and  I  knew  it  was  only  her 
goodness  to  me. 

I  begged  her  to  tell  me  about  Uncle  Keith's  illness,  and 
she  soon  put  me  in  possession  of  the  salient  points.  He 
had  worked  a  little  too  hard,  and  then  had  got  wet  in 
thunder-storm,  and  a  sharp  attack  of  inflammation  had 
been  the  result. 

"  He  considers  himself  well  now,"  she  continued,  4<  but 
he  is  still  very  weak,  and  will  not  be  able  to  resume  work 
for  another  week  or  two.  His  employers  have  been  very 
kind;  they  seem  to  value  him  highly.  Oh!  he  has  been  so 
patient,  Merle,  it  has  been  quite  a  privilege  to  nurse  him; 
not  a  complaint,  not  an  irritable  word.  I  always  knew  he 
was  a  good  man,  but  illness  is  such  a  test  of  character." 

"  But  you  have  worn  yourself  out,"  I  grumbled;  "  you 
do  not  look  well. "  But  she  interrupted  me. 

"  Do  not  notice  my  looks  before  your  uncle,"  she  said, 
pleadingly;  "  he  is  so  anxious  about  me;  but  indeed  I  aim 
only  a  little  tired;  I  shall  be  better  now  I  have  told  you 
and  got  it  over.  You  have  been  on  my  mind,  Merle,  and 
then  that  horrid  accident."  But  I  would  not  let  her  dwell 
upon  that.  We  had  reached  the  cottage  by  this  time,  and 
Patience  was  watching  for  us;  she  leoked  prettier  and 
rosier  than  ever. 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  19$ 

I  found  Uncle  Keith  sitting  pillowed  up  in  an  arm-chair 
by  the  drawing-room  fire.  I  thought  he  looked  shrunken, 
and  there  was  a  pinched  look  about  his  features.  He  had 
not  grown  younger  and  handsomer  to  my  eyes,  but  as  he 
turned  his  prominent  brown  eyes  on  me  with  a  kind  look  of 
welcome,  and  held  out  his  thin  hand,  I  kissed  him  with 
real  affection,  and  my  eyes  were  a  little  wet. 

"  Hir-rumph,  my  dear,  I  am  pleased  to  see  you — there, 
there,  never  mind  my  stupid  illness;  I  am  quite  a  giant 
now,  eh,  Agatha?  It  is  worth  being  ill,  Merle,  to  be 
nursed  by  your  aunt;  oh,  quite  a  luxury,  I  assure  you! 
Hir-rumph. "  And  here  Uncle  Keith  cleared  his  throat  in 
his  usual  fashion,  and  stirred  the  fire  rather  loudly,  though 
he  looked  a  little  paler  after  the  exercise. 

"  But  I  am  so  dreadfully  sorry,  Uncle  Keith,"  I  said, 
when  Aunt  Agatha  had  taken  the  poker  from  him  and 
bustled  out  of  the  room  to  fetch  him  some  jelly,  "  to  think 
I  never  knew  how  ill  you  were." 

"That  was  all  the  better,  child,"  he  returned,  cheer- 
fully. '*  Agatha  was  a  wise  woman  not  to  tell  you;  but 
ihere  are  not  many  people  in  the  world,  Merle,  who  would 
x>me  up  to  your  aunt,  not  many,"  rubbing  his  hands  to- 
gether. 

16  No,  indeed,  Uncle  Keith." 

'( How  do  you  think  she  looks?"  he  continued,  turning 
•ound  rather  sharply.  "  Have  I  tired  her  out,  eh?" 

*"'  She  looks  a  little  tired,  certainly." 

"  Hir-rumph,  I  thought  so.  Agatha,  my  dear,"  as  she 
•e-entered  with  the  jelly,  "  I  do  not  want  all  this  waiting 
>n  now;  it  is  my  turn  to  wait  on  you!  I  must  not  wear 
>ut  such  a  good  wife,  must  I,  Merle>9"  And  though  we 
)oth  laughed  at  that,  and  Aunt  Agatha  pretended  that  he 

s  only  in  fun,  it  was  almost  pathetic  to  see  how  he 
matched  her  busy  movements  about  the  room,  and  how  he 
jegged  ker  again  and  again  to  sit  down,  and  not  tire  her* 
ielf;  and  yet  she  loved  to  <Lo^ j&  4,  think  we  both  of  iw 


300  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

kn«w  that.  I  was  not  disposed  to  pity  Aunt  Agatli; 
had  done  in  lormer  years.  Perhaps  I  had.  grown  old  or  and 
more  womanly  in  those  eight  months  of  service,  and  less 
disposed  to  be  critical  on  quiet,  matter-of-fact  lives.  On 
the  contrary,  I  began  to  understand  in  a  vague  sort  of  way 
that  Aunt  Agatha  was  garnering  in  much  happiness  in  her 
useful  middle  age,  in  her  honest,  single  -  eyed  service. 
Love  had  come  to  her  in  a  sober  guise,  and  without  pre- 
tension, but  it  was  the  right  sort  of  love  after  all,  no 
doubt.  To  youthful  eyes,  Uncle  Keith  was  not  more  of  a 
hero;  but  a  plain  honest  man,  even  though  he  has  a  fewer 
inches  than  his  fellows,  may  have  merit  enough  to  fill  one 
woman's  heart,  and  I  ceased  to  wonder  at  Aunt  Agatha's 
infatuation  in  believing  herself  a  happy  woman. 

We  had  not  much  talk  apart  that  day.  Aunt  Agatha 
could  not  leave  Uncle  Keith,  but  I  never  felt  him  less  in 
the  way.  I  talked  quite  openly  about  things;  he  was  as 
much  interested  as  Aunt  Agatha  in  listening  to  my  de- 
scription of  Marshlands  and  Wheeler's  Farm,  and  had  not 
a  dissenting  word  when  I  praised  Gay  Cheriton  in  my  old 
enthusiastic  way,  and  only  a  soft  "  hir-rumph  "  interrupt- 
ed my  account  of  Reggie's  accident. 

It  was  Aunt  Agatha  who  walked  back  with  me  over  the 
bridge  in  the  soft  October  twilight.  Tired  as  she  was,  she 
refused  to  part  with  me  until  the  last  minute. 

*  You  must  come  again  soon,  Merle,"  she  said,  as  we 
parted;  "  Ezra  ancl  I  are  not  young  people  now,  and  a 
bright  face  does  us  both  good,  and  your  face  has  grown  a 
very  bright  one,  Merle. " 

Was  Aunt  Agatha  right,  I  wondered?  Had  I  really 
grown  happier  outwardly?  Had  the  inward  peace  of  satis- 
fied conscience  and  a  heart  at  rest  cast  its  reflection  of 
brightness?  I  was  certainly  very  happy  just  then;  my  life 
was  growing  wider,  friends  were  coming  round  me,  inter- 
ests were  thickening,  there  was  meaning  and  purpose  in 
each  opening  day.  I  no  longer  thought  so  much  of  myself 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  201 

and  my  own  feelings;  the  activities  of  life,  the  needs  and 
joys  of  others,  seemed  to  press  and  crush  out  all  morbid 
ideas.  I  had  so  many  to  love,  and  so  many  who  seemed  to 
need  me  and  care  for  me. 

I  went  more  than  once  to  Putney  during  the  next  two  or 
three  weeks.  My  mistress  was  far  too  sympathizing  and 
unselfish  to  keep  me  from  my  own  people  when  they  need- 
ed me;  on  the  contrary,  she  was  always  full  of  contrivances 
that  I  should  be  spared. 

November  passed  very  pleasantly.  Mrs.  Morton  was  re- 
covering strength  slowly  but  surely;  she  was  no  longer  a 
prisoner  to  her  dressing-room,  but  could  spend  the  greater 
part  of  the  day  in  the  drawing-room  or  in  her  husband's 
library. 

But  she  still  continued  her  invalid  habits,  and  saw  few 
people.  I  still  sat  with  her  in  the  afternoon,  and  either 
Joyce  or  Reggie  played  about  the  room.  When  Mr.  Mor- 
ton was  absent  I  came  down  to  her  in  the  evening,  and 
read  or  talked  to  her.  I  prized  these  hours,  for  in  them  I 
learned  to  know  my  sweet  mistress  more  intimately  and  to 
love  her  more  dearly. 

At  the  beginning  of  December  Gay  came  to  us.  I  was 
looking  forward  to  her  visit  with  some  eagerness,  though  1 
knew  my  evenings  would  then  be  spent  in  the  nursery,  as 
Mrs.  Morton  would  only  need  her  sister's  society;  but,  to 
my  great  surprise,  I  was  summoned  to  the  drawing-room 
on  the  evening  of  her  arrival.  She  had  just  come  in  time 
co  dress  for  dinner,  and  we  had  not  yet  seen  her.  I  could 
scarcely  credit  Travers's  message  when  she  delivered  it. 

;i  Will  you  please  go  down  to  the  little  drawing-room, 
Miss  Fenton?  Miss  Gay  wants  to  see  you,  and  my  mistress 
does  not  care  to  be  left  alone. " 

She  started  up  and  came  to  meet  me  with  outstretched 
hands.  She  looked  prettier  than  ever,  and  her  eyes  were 
ihiuing  with  happiness. 

*'  I  ttw  so  glad  to  ace  j«u,  Merle,    I  wanted  t«  come  up 


MERLES  CRUSADE. 

to  the  nursery,  but  this  spoiled  woman — how  you  have  all 
spoiled  her! — refused  to  be  left.  She  said  Hannah  would 
be  there,  and  that  we  could  not  talk  comfortably." 

"  Yes,  but  there  was  another  reason,"  returned  my  mis- 
tress, smiling;  and  Gay  blushed  and  cast  down  her  eyes. 

"  1  wanted  to  tell  you  the  news  myself,  because  I  knew 
you  would  be  interested.  Sit  down,  Merle,  in  your  usual 
place,  and  guess  what  has  happened." 

I  did  not  need  to  guess;  the  first  look  at  Gay's  happy 
face  had  told  me,  and  then  1  had  glanced  at  a  certain  \ 
finger.     Opals  tell  their  own  tales. 

"  Guess,"  continued  my  mistress,  mischievously.  "  Who  ; 
Wfts  the  guest  who  came  oftenest  to  Marshlands?" 

"There  were  two  who  came  most  frequently,"  I  re-  j 
turned,  looking  steadily  i»to  Gay's  blushing  .face.,  "  Mr.  3 
Hwtry  and  Mr.  Rossiter;  but  I  do  not  need  to  be  told  it  | 
is  Mr.  Rossiter."  And  Gay  jumped  up  and  kissed  me  inj 
her  impulsive  way. 

I  could  see  that  she  was  pleased  I  had  guessed  it. 

"  I  told  you  it  would  be  no  news  to  her,  Vi,"  she  said, 
breathlessly.  "  Do  you  remember  our  talk  in  the  orchard, 
Merle,  when  I  told  you  I  was  afraid  of  poverty?" 

"  Yes;  but  I  knew  you  magnified  your  fears.  Miss  Gay." 
But  she  shook  her  head  at  that. 

"  I  hate  it  just  as  much  as  ever.  I  tell  Walter  1  am 
the  worst  possible  person  for  a  poor  man's  wife,  and  if  you 
ask  Violet  she  will  agree  with  me,  but  I  was  obliged  to 
have  him,  poverty  and  all;  he  would  not  take  '  No  '  for 
an  answer." 

"  1  think  Waller  was  very  sensible,"  returned  her  sister. 
'e  I  should  have  despised  him  for  giving  you  up, " 

"He  would  never  have  done  that,"  replied  Gay,  with 
decision,  "  until  I  had  married  somebody  else;  and  there 
was  no  chance  of  that.  You  are  grave,  Merle;  do  you; 
mean  to  forbid  the  bans?  Why  do  you  not  congratulate 
me?" 


203 

"I  do  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart.  Will  thtt 
content  you?" 

"  To  be  sure;  but  what  then,  Merle?" 

44  I  ought  not  to  say,  perhaps,  if  you  have  made  up  your 
mind.  I  like  Mr.  Rossiter.  He  is  young,  but  he  seems 
very  good.  But  do  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you  that 
evening,  Miss  Gay,  when  we  were  watching  the  moon  rise 
over  Squire  Hawtry's  corn-fields— that  your  environment 
just  suited  you?  I  can't  realize  Marshlands  without  you." 

I  saw  the  sisters  exchange  a  meaning  look,  and  then  Gay 
said,  in  a  low  voice:  "What  should  you  say,  Merle,  /f  I 
am  not  to  leave  Marshlands — if  my  father  refuses  to  part 
with  me?" 

"  I  do  not  think  that  would  answer.  Mrs.  Markham 
would  be  mistress,  and  you  have  told  me  so  often  that  she 
does  not  like  Mr.  Rossiter. " 

66  There  are  to  be  changes  at  Marshlands,  Merle,"  broke 
in  my  mistress;  she  had  been  listening  to  us  with  much  in- 
terest, and  1  wished  Mr.  Morton  could  have  seen  her  with 
ifcat  bright,  animated  look  on  her  face.  "  Adelaide  will 
be  mistress  there  no  longer.  A  young  cousin  of  ours,  Mrs. 
Austin,  who  was  with  Adelaide  in  Calcutta,  has  just  lost 
her  husband.  She  is  an  invalid,  is  very  rich,  and  very 
helpless,  and  has  no  one  except  ourselves  belonging  to  her. 
She  is  very  fond  of  Adelaide,  and  she  has  begged  her  to 
live  with  her,  and  superintend  her  establishment.  She  has 
a  large  house  at  Chislehurst,  and  so  Adelaide,  and  Rolf, 
and  Judson  are  to  take  up  their  abode  with  her." 

Things  have  not  been  very  pleasant  lately,  Merle," 
observed  Gay,  gravely.  "  Adelaide  has  set  her  face  against 
my  marrying  Walter,  and,  she  has  worried  father  and  tor- 
mented me,  and  made  things  rather  difficult  for  all  of  us. 
It  is  quite  true,  as  she  says,  that  Walter  is  poor,  and  has 
no  present  prospects,"  continued  Gay;  "  and  she  has 
dinned  his  poverty  so  incessantly  into  father's  ear  that  he 
has  got  frightened  abcmii  it.  andtJj)**  made  up  his  mind 


204 

that  he  win  not  part  with  me  at  all— that  Walter  must 
make  his  home  with  us.  There  was  a  terrible  scene  when 
Adelaide  heard  this;  she  declared  she  would  not  stop  in 
the  house  under  these  conditions.  And  then  Amy's  letter 
came,  and  she  announced  her  resolution  of  living  at  Chisle- 
hurst.  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  driving  Addie  away, 
but/'  finished  Gay,  with  an  odd  little  laugh,  "  I  think: 
father  and  I  will  manage  very  well  without  her." 

We  talked  a  little  more  on  the  subject  until  I  was  dis- 
missed; and  I  had  plenty  of  food  for  my  thoughts  when  T 
went  back  to  the  quiet  nursery. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

RINGING   THE  CHANGES. 

IT  pleased  me  greatly  to  hear  that  Gay  would  be  mis- 
tress of  Marshlands;  1  could  not  imagine  the  place  without 
her  bright  presence.  She  would  still  have  her  pets  around 
her,  her  bees  and  chickens,  and  her  brown  mare  Bonnie; 
the  tame  pheasants  would  still  follow  her  up  and  down  the 
terrace,  the  pigeons  fly  on  her  arms  and  shoulders;  she 
would  ride  out  with  the  old  squire,  and  sing  to  him  of  an 
evening,  and  Walter  Rossiter  would  be  a  son  to  him  in  his 
old  age.  I  thought  it  would  be  an  ideal  life,  and  I  found 
out  that  my  mistress  thought  so  too. 

She  often  talked  to  me  about  it  when  we  were  left  alone, 
and  of  her  young  sister's  happiness;  and  when  Gay  had  a 
leisure  hour  she  would  run  up  to  the  nursery,  and  chat 
about  her  future,  telling  me  everything  she  thought  I 
should  like  to  hear. 

After  a  week  or  two  Mr.  Rossiter  came  to  Prince's  Gate, 
and  then  I  saw  little  of  Gay;  my  nursery  duties  occupied 
me,  and  she  was  too  much  engrossed  with  her  lover's  com- 
pany to  give  me  much  of  her  time. 

Mr.  Rossiter  had  brought  a  sad  piece  of  news  with  him 
that  I  was  sorry  to  hear.  Mr.  Hawtry  had  returned  from 


.K"  DE.  2U5 


Venice,  bringing  his  cousin  with  him  to  the  Red  Farm; 
but  a  few  days  ago  he  had  met  with  an  accident  in  the 
hunting-field;  his  mare  had  thrown  him  in  jumping  a 
gate.  It  was  a  young  mare  he  had  lately  bought,  and  she 
had  not  been  properly  broken  in;  the  result  had  been  a 
broken  leg  to  her  master.  Gay  could  not  quite  tell  me 
how  it  had  happened.  Mr.  Hawtry  was  too  good  a  horse- 
man to  be  easily  thrown,  but  he  had  fallen  in  an  awkward 
place,  and  it  was  only  by  a  miracle  he  had  not  been  killed. 

His  cousin,  Edgar  Hawtry,  was  nursing  him;  but  it  was 
likely  to  be  a  tedious  affair. 

I  noticed  that  Mrs.  Morton  and  Gay  seemed  to  take  this 
accident  greatly  to  heart;  they  were  always  alluding  to  it, 
and  looking  eagerly  for  bulletins  from  Marshlands. 
"  There  would  be  few  men  more  missed  than  Hawtry,"  I 
heard  Mr.  Rossiter  say  one  day,  when  he  and  Gay  were  in 
the  nursery  playing  with  the  children.  "  1  should  not  be 
here  now  if  Edgar  were  not  with  him;  but  he  is  a  famous 
nurse,  Mrs.  Cornish  tells  me." 

I  was  glad  to  think  that  poor  Mr.  Hawtry  was  not  left 
alone,  to  miss  his  mother  and  Miss  Agnes.  He  was»  so 
strong  and  active,  so  full  of  life  and  energy,  that  we  coald. 
not  imagine  him  a  prisoner  to  his  couch.  I  had  heard  a 
great  deal  of  this  young  artist  cousin,  whom  he  had  nursed 
through  a  long  and  dangerous  illness  in  Venice.  He  was 
a  light-hearted,  handsome  young  fellow,  and  1  was  glad  to 
know  that  he  was  at  the  Red  Farm  taking  care  of  Mr. 
Hawtry. 

Mr.  Rossiter  and  Gay  left  us  a  little  before  Christmas. 
Mr.  Rossiter's  duties  recalled  him  to  Netherton,  and  Gay 
could  not  well  remain  longer.  Mrs.  Markham  was  to  ac- 
complish her  flitting  with  the  New-year,  and  then  Gay 
would  assume  her  position  as  mistress  of  Marshlands. 

She  came  to  us  again  early  in  February  to  get  Jiei 
troussemi,  and  remained  three  weeks.  Her  wedding  was 
for  th«  end  of  April*  _I  saw  a  good  deal  of  her  dur» 


206  MEKLE'S  CRUSADE. 

ing  those  weeks.  She  would  take  us  with  her  in  the  car- 
riage sometimes  when  she  went  on  her  shopping  expedi- 
tions; sometimes  we  helped  her  with  her  purchases,  until 
Eeggie  grew  restless  and  I  carried  him  out. 

She  was  very  sweet  and  humble  in  her  happiness,  and 
would  often  tell  me  how  little  she  deserved  it.  "  Do  we 
ever  deserve  it?"  she  said  once,  as  we  were  driving  through 
the  park  one  late  afternoon.  Reggie  had  fallen  asleej .  on 
my  lap.  Joyce  sat  opposite,  looking  at  the  twinkling  gas- 
lamps  and  the  pale  radiance  of  distant  water.  Gay  leaned 
back  in  her  place  a  little  wearily,  but  her  eyes  were  shining 
in  the  dusk.  "  I  do  not  think  any  of  us  deserve  it,  Merle;  it 
is  a  free  gift  to  all  of  us,  for  which  we  must  be  thankful, " 

"  Yes/'  I  returned,  briefly,  for  I  would  not  interrupt 
the  solemnity  of  her  mood  by  any  ill-timed  compliment; 
and  yet,  in  my  heart,  I  believed  no  one  deserved  happiness 
more.  It  would  not  be  wasted  on  her,  I  knew  that;  &he 
was  one  of  those  who  receive  with  both  hands,  and  then 
give  it  back  again  to  others.  I  knew  she  and  "Walter  Ros- 
siter  would  lead  noble  lives  together,  doing  their  duty  sim- 
ply and  without  effort,  not  looking  for  large  results,  but 
carrying  good  seed  with  them  and  scattering  it  broadcast 
with  no  niggardly  hand. 

Theirs  would  be  a  bright,  sunshiny  home,  I  was  quite 
sure  of  that — a  home  where  generous  hospitality  would  be 
exercised,  where  the  poor  as  well  as  the  rich  would  be 
feasted. 

When  Gay  said  presently  in  a  moved  tone,  "  How  good 
I  ought  to  ,be,  and  how  happy  I  ought  to  make  others 
when  1  am  so  blessed  myself!"  1  knew  she  .was  speaking 
out  of  the  very  fullness  of  her  young  heart  that  was  over- 
flowing with  happiness,  and  I  thought  how  nice  it  was  to 
hear  her.  1  liked  to  see  the  simplicity  with  which  she 
grasped  the  meaning  of  life — to  be  happy—yes,  truly,  for 
to  that  end  we  were  crested,  and  to  benefit  our  fellow 
creatures, 


207 

It  was  a  little  hard  to  say  good-bye  to  her,  out  she  com- 
forted me  with  the  assurance  that  she  meant  to  have  us 
all  down  at  Marshlands  that  summer.  Their  honey-moon 
was  to  be  a  brief  one,  she  told  me;  for  neither  she  nor  Mr. 
Rossiter  liked  to  leave  the  squire  long  alone. 

"  We  must  not  be  selfish,  "Walter  says,"  she  finished, 
brightly;  4<  and  as  he  declares  our  honey-moon  is  to  last 
for  life,  I  do  not  see  that  it  much  matters  where  we  spend 
it;"  and  then  she  gave  a  happy  little  laugh  and  went 
away. 

It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  my  mistress  that 
neither  she  nor  her  husband  could  be  at  the  wedding;  but 
circumstances  prevented  it,  for  with  the  May  sunshine  an- 
other little  human  blossom  appeared  at  Prince's  Gate — a 
baby  girl,  to  take  the  place  of  the  dead  Muriel. 

I  do  not  know  why  I  shed  tears  when  the  baby  was 
first  laid  in  my  arms.  Perhaps  I  realized  that  my  beloved 
mistress  had  lain  long  between  life  and  death,  and  that  to 
the  household  it  had  been  a  time  of  terrible  suspense;  but 
when  I  saw  my  mistress's  pale  face  irradiated  with  the 
purest  happiness  the  feeling  passed. 

"  Alick  has  promised  me  that  I  may  call  her  Florence," 
she  whispered.  "  Is  she  not  a  lovely  baby,  Merle;  more 
like  Reggie  than  Joyce?"  But  she  smiled  when  I  assured 
her  the  baby  resembled  her. 

The  birth  of  little  Florence  made  necessary  changes  in 
the  household;  it  added  another  to  the  nursery.  Reggie 
was  now  two  and  a  half  years  old,  and  was  growing  a  fine 
healthy  boy,  and  I  thought  I  was  justified  in  pleading  for 
the  sole  charge  of  the  baby.  But  it  was  decided  that  the 
nurse,  Mrs.  Morris,  a  very  pleasant,  respectable  woman, 
should  remain  for  the  next  few  months,  arid  after  that  I 
should  have  my  wish;  Hannah  could  then  be  promoted  tt 
the  care  of  Reggie,  and  an  imder-girl  could  be  added  if 
necessary.  Hannah  ga?e  up  her  room  to  Mrs.  Morris,  and 


* 

308  MERLE'S  CKUSADK. 

took  a  smaller  one  that  had  been  used  by  Rhoda,  but  I 
still  kept  possession  of  the  night  nursery. 

I  was  little  averse  to  Mrs.  Morris's  company  at  first,  but 
after  a  time  I  grew  reconciled  to  it.  She  was  a  sensible, 
well-educated  woman,  and  could  be  more  companionable 
to  me  than  Hannah,  and  baby  Florence  was  my  delight. 

From  the  first,  she  was  more  with  me  than  with  her 
proper  nurse.  Mrs.  Morris  pretended  to  grumble  when  1 
snatched  her  away  on  every  possible  occasion,  but  1  could 
not  resist  the  pretty  cooing  creature.  I  would  have  given 
up  my  night's  rest  gladly  to  watch  over  her.  Even  my 
mistress  smiled  when  she  paid  her  first  visit  to  the  nursery, 
and  saw  me  in  the  rocking-chair  with  baby  on  my  lap,  .and 
Mrs.  Morris  amusing  Eeggie  at  the  window. 

When  she  grew  stronger  she  came  daily  to  the  nursery 
and  sat  with  us  for  an  hour  or  so.  She  told  me  once, 
when  we  were  alone  together — a  very  rare  thing  now — that 
her  husband  employed  a  secretary  for  two  or  three  hours 
in  the  day,  and  that  he  no  longer  required  her  services. 

"  I  was  a  little  sorry  at  first,"  she  confessed,  "  because 
1  was  afraid  he  would  need  me  less,  until  he  told  me  that 
he  had  done  it  for  my  sake.  He  thinks  I  ought  to  be 
more  with  the  children,  Merle;  that  Joyce  should  learn 
her  first  lessons  from  me.  We  have  been  arranging  the 
day's  duties.  You  have  no  idea  how  thoughtful  he  is  for 
my  comfort;  he  says  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  lead  such 
a  busy  life.  The  children  are  to  be  with  me  for  an  hour 
or  two  before  luncheon,  and  I  am  only  to  devote  my  after- 
noons to  people  in  general.  He  has  refused  all  invitations 
this  season,  and  at  the  begining  of  July  he  means  to  send 
us  all  down  to  Marshlands;  it  seems  Gay  insists  on  it." 

I  was  pleased  and  thankful  to  hear  this.  I  was  looking 
lorward  to  our  visit  to  Marshlands  with  an  intensity  thaf 
surprised  myself.  It  seemed  almost  too  good  to  be  true 
that  my  mistress  would  be  with  us.  I  longed  to  see  the 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  209 

young  Mrs.  Rossicer  iii  her  happiness,  to  revisit  our  old 
haunts,  to  spend  our  afternoons  in  the  orchard,  to  go  over 
to  Wheeler's  Farm  and  se©  Molly.  Perhaps  we  might 
even  revisit  the  Red  Farm. 

Mr.  Hawtry  had  recovered  from  his  accident.  I  knew 
that  he  had  been  away  for  change  of  air  and  scene  with  his 
cousin,  and  was  back  again  at  the  Red  Farm.  He  seemed 
to  be  frequently  at  Marshlands,  for  Gay  always  mentioned 
him  in  her  letters.  He  was  very  busy  as  usual,  making 
improvements  on  his  farm  and  building  more  laborers'  cot- 
tages. Luke  Armstrong  lived  in  one  of  them. 

Hannah  used  to  quote  largely  from  Luke's  letters,  as  we 
walked  in  Kensington  Gardens  in  the  bright  June  morn- 
ings. Sometimes  it  was  about  a  piece  of  furniture  Luke 
had  picked  up  cheaply,  an  eight-day  clock,  or  a  chest  of 
drawers,  or  a  round  table  that  would  come  in  handy. 
Molly  had  been  sending  him  some  useful  odds  and  ends 
out  of  the  store-room  at  Wheeler's  Farm— a  brass  fender 
and  a  Dutch  oven,  a  striped  red  and  black  cloth,  and  some 
china  cups  and  saucers  that  Hannah  was  "  fine  and  proud 
of,"  as  Molly  said.  Luke  was  forever  hinting  in  a  modest 
sort  of  way  that  the  cottage  was  nearly  furnished. 

I  had  been  helping  Hannah  with  her  sewing  all  the  win- 
ter, and  we  knew  the  result  would  gladden  Molly's  heart. 
Hannah's  savings  had  been  invested  wisely.  The  great 
painted  box  in  Hannah's  room  held  quite  a  store  of  sheets 
and  fcable-linen,  not  to  mention  piles  of  neat  garments  all 
ready  for  use.  I  knew  what  all  Luke's  hints  meant;  both 
he  and  the  cottage  were  ready  for  the  young  mistress,  and 
in  her  simple,  loving  way  Hannah  was  ready  too.  I  won- 
dered sometimes  if  Gay — young  Mrs.  Rossiter,  I  mean — 
had  taken  half  so  much  pride  and  pleasure  in  her  trousseau 
as  Hannah  did  in  the  contents  of  that  old  painted  box.  I 
was  quite  aware  that  the  gray  French  merino  that  had 
been  her  mistress's  Christmas  gift  still  lay  there,  wrapped 
in  whitey-browii  paper  with  the  half  dozen  hem-stitched 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

hanclkerchieis  that  had  been  my  present,  carefully  hoarded 
for  future!  use. 

Haunan  blushed  a  little  guiltily  when  I  asked  her  abous 
the  gray  merino. 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  matter  what  gowns  I  wear  when 
Luke  is  not  by  to  see  them/5  she  returned,  simply;  "1 
only  care  to  be  neat  and  clean,  so  I  am  saving  all  my 
pretty  things  until  we  are  married.  There  is  the  blue 
print  Molly  sent  me,  and  some  collars  and  cuffs  from 
Lydia  lying  there  with  the  merino.  Molly  has  promised 
me  my  wedding-dress,"  continued  Hannah,  bashfully. 

We  have  talked  of  it  already,  though  I  have  not  made 
up  my  mind  to  wed  just  yet,  for  all  the  nonsense  Luke 
talks.  It  is  to  be  gray,  too/'  she  went  on.  "  Luke  has  a 
fancy  for  gray  gowns;  and  it  is  to  Have  silky  raised  spots 
on  the  stuff,  like  Miss  Gay's,  only  not  so  fine." 

6  Yes,  indeed;  but  1  dare  say  the  stuff  one  will  be  just 
as  pretty." 

"  Mother  was  married  in  a  Japanese  silk  dress;  Molly 
has  a  bit  of  it  still  in  a  work-bag;  but  Molly  says  she  does 
not  hold  with  silk  dresses  and  silver  spoons  for  working 
folk.  There  is  Martin  of  Scroggins's  Mill  has  promised 
Lyddy  a  gold  watch  and  chain  and  a  silk  gown  that  will 
stand  alone  for  richness,  but  Molly  says  Lyddy  is  far  too 
sensible  to  be  bought  at  that  price." 

"  Indeed  1  hope  so,  for  Lydia's  own  sake." 
"  Oh,  there's  no  fear  of  Lyddy  taking  up  with  Martin/' 
returned  Hannah,  confidently;  "  she  is  bound  to  be  single 
like  Molly.  Folks  can  not  all  be  mated,  Molly  says,  and 
it  is  best  to  be  content  with  a  solitary  lot  than  wed  a  fool. 
Molly  never  had  much  opinion  of  men-folk.  She  says 
they  want  a  deal  of  waiting  on,  and  are  fine  and  helpless 
compared  to  women." 

Molly's  strong-minded  views  somewhat  amused  me,  but 
she  was  certainly  a  tower  of  strength  to  her  young  sisters. 
One  could  not  help  sympathizing  with  Hannah's  happi- 


ME!  i)K.  211 

ness;  she  was  so  simple  and  honoat;  she.  had  such  faith  in 
her  lover's  perfections;  she  so  thoroughly  believed  in  her- 
self and  him. 

After  a  time  I  grew  almost  as  much  interested  in  the 
cottage  arrangements,  as  Hannah  did.  I  was  quite  excited 
when  Luke  brought  home  a  pig  to  inhabit  the  new  sty  by 
the  kitchen-garden,  and  spoke  of  investing  his  next  week's 
wages  in  a  cock  and  some  hens.  I  found  Hannah  nearly 
crying  for  joy  one  day  over  a  letter  from  home.  Molly 
had  coaxed  her  father  to  spare  the  brindled  cow  as  Han- 
nah's marriage  portion. 

"Is  it  not  good  of  Molly  ?"  she  cried,  drying  her  eyes 
on  her  apron.  "  To  think  of  my  having  Buttercup  for  my 
very  own,  and  of  the  sweet  new  milk  for  Luke's  porridge 
that  she  will  give  us  every  morning.  It  makes  me  cry 
with  happiness,  Miss  Fenton,  to  think  how  proud  Luke 
will  be.  Molly  has  been  a  mother  to  us  girls  ever  since  I 
can  remember,  and  we  have  not  been  half  good  enough  to 
her." 

1  grew  a  little  wearied  at  last  of  Hannah's  ecstasies  over*, 
the  brindled  cow,  though  I  reproached  myself  for  selfishness; 
but  to  hear  too  much  of  other  people's  happiness  without 
sharing  it  is  rather  like  sitting  before  covered  dishes  at  a 
feast,  and  hearing  one's  neighbors  discourse  on  the  sejia- 
rate  flavors.  Ah,  me!  what  self-seeking  humans  we  all 
are!  I  think  it  made  me  just  a  little  restless  to  hear  Han- 
nah's talk,  until  baby  cried,  and  I  took  her  on  my  lap, 
and  she  looked  at  me  with  her  pretty  blue  eyes,  and  be- 
gan to  coo,  as  she  always  did  when  I  sung  to  her. 

I  had  not  been  to  Putney  for  some  time,  and  it  struck 
me  that  a  cozy  afternoon  with  Aunt  Agatha  would  do  me 
good.  Perhaps  it  was  the  heat,  but  I  certainly  felt  a  little 
restless.  We  were  to  start  for  Netherton  in  another  ten 
days,  and  I  thought  1  could  be  more  easily  spared  just 
now.  I  thought  it  would  be  nice  to  surprise  Aunt  Agatha 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

with  an  unexpected  visit.     When  I  told  my  mistim 
she  seemed  amused. 

"  You  had  better  let  Mrs.  Keith  know  beforehand. 
Merle.  Suppose  you  were  to  find  her  out;  that  would  be 
a  serious  disappointment  to  you  both. " 

But  I  refused  to  entertain  this  objection;  I  had  never 
found  Aunt  Agatha  out  yet. 

"  Very  well,  do  as  you  like,"  she  replied,  pleasantly. 
"  It  is  rather  a  hot  afternoon;  but  I  see  you  have  made  up 
your  mind.  You  are  just  a  little  home-sick,  Merle,  and 
want  a  comfortable  talk  with  your  aunt.  If  your  uncle 
could  see  you  home,  I  have  no  objection  to  your  remaining 
all  the  evening.  Mrs.  Morris  will  look  after  Reggie. " 

I  shook  my  head  over  this  proposition.  Uncle  Keith 
was  very  kind,  but  I  could  not  trouble  him  to  escort  me. 
My  mistress  was  very  particular  about  this.  She  would 
never  hear  of  my  being  out  late  alone. 

"  It  is  all  very  well  for  Hannah  or  Travers,"  she  would 
say,  "but  in  your  case  it  is  different."     And,  indeed,  in 
many  other  ways  she  watched  over  me  as  though  I  were  a 
^young  sister. 

It  was  an  intensely  hot  afternoon,  and  I  was  thankful  to 
put  on  my  coolest  dress.  It  was  rather  a  light-colored 
stuff,  that  Aunt  Agatha  had  given  me  in  the  spring. 
Hannah  and  1  had  made  it  up  with  Traverses  help;  but 
though  it  was  a  very  pretty  gown,  I  thought  it  rather  un- 
suitable for  daily  wear,  and  so  I  put  it  by  for  festive  occa- 
sions. I  always  took  particular  pains  with  myself  when  I 
^nent  home.  I  knew  Aunt  Agatha  would  eye  me  critically- 
and  would  grumble  if  I  looked  dowdy  or  shabby.  She  was 
a  woman  who  loved  pretty  things,  and  it  was  an  unpar- 
donable offense  in  her  eyis  for  young  persons  to  be  negli- 
gent of  their  appearance. 

"Depend  upon  it,  Merle/'  she  would  say,  "there  is 
something  unhealthy  in  a  girl  who  professes  not  to  care 
how  she  looks.  It  is  our  duty  to  make  the  best  of  our- 


. 


selves.  A  woman  can  not  help  being  plain,  but  she  need 
not  shoeK  our  eyes  by  tastelessness  or  untidiness.  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  please  Aunt  Agatha  this  afternoon/  '  I 
thought,  as  I  looked  at  myself  somewhat  critically.  The 
dress  was  pretty,  so  was  the  bonnet,  though  I  had  trimmed 
it  myself. 

I  was  in  very  good  spirits  as  I  left  the  house.  It  might 
have  been  cooler,  certainly,  and  the  second-class  compart- 
ment felt  unusually  stuffy;  but  I  forgot  the  heat  when  the 
river  came  in  sight  —  it  was  so  bright  and  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight. 

The  cranes  were  at  work  as  usual,  huge  blocks  of  stone 
were  quivering  in  the  air,  the  white  arches  with  their  iron 
girders  spanned  the  river,  there  was  the  usual  noisy  traffic 
in  the  High  Street,  the  gray  old  churches  stood  like  silent 
sentinels  in  the  midst  of  hurry  and  toil,  the  clock  chimed, 
then  a  bell  tolled;  **  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death," 
it  seemed  to  say;  a  funeral  came  over  the  bridge  in  the 
sunshine,  some  children  stood  gaping  on  the  foot-way,  a 
carriage  passed  it  somewhat  rapidly;  the  coachman  had  a 
satin  favor.  I  wonder  if  the  bride  turned  her  head  away 
from  the  sad  sight? 

Mrs/  Morton's  speech  somewhat  haunted  me  as  1  came 
up  the  narrow  nagged  way  leading  from  the  town.  Sup- 
pose, after  all,  Aunt  Agatha  should  be  out;  I  knew  I 
should  be  grievously  disappointed..  Perhaps,  after  all,  it 
was  foolish  to  chance  it.  I  slackened  my  steps  instinctive- 
ly, as  though  I  feared  no  welcome  awaited  me  at  the  cot- 
tage. As  1  walked  between  the  garden  walls,  with  rose 
scents  wafted  to  me  every  now  and  then,  the  shadeless  sun- 
shine oppressed  me,  the  stones  felt  hot  to  my  feet,  and  a 
cloud  of  dust  whirled  suddenly  round  the  corner. 

I  really  thought  my  apprehension  was  true  when  Uncle 
Keith  opened  the  door;  he  looked  so  excessively  surprised 
to  see  me;  his  nuumer,  too,  was  nUlier  ron  fused. 

"  Hir-rumph,  my  dewLthie  is  a  very  unexpected  plwaa- 


214:  MEKLE'D  CRUSADE. 

ure.  Who  would  have  thought  of  such  a  thing?  Agatha 
will  be  delighted. " 

"  Aunt  Agatha  is  in,  then?"  1  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  is  in;  but — hir-rumph — the  fact  is,  my 
dear,  she  is  engaged  just  at  this  moment.  We  did  no* 
know  who  it  was,  and  she  asked  me  to  excuse  her  to  any 
visitor.  Shall  we  go  into  the  dining-room  for  a  few  min- 
utes until  she  is  ready?" 

"  I  would  rather  go  upstairs  and  take  off  my  bonnet, 
Uncle  Keith, "  I  returned,  quickly;  "it  is  so  hot,  and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  get  cool;"  but  he  stood  still  on  the  mat,, 
looking  after  me,  and  1  heard  him  clearing  his  thoat  more 
loudly  than  usual  as  he  went  back  to  the  drawing-room. 

I  was  glad  to  hear  the  front  door  shut  presently,  and  ran 
down  at  once  without  looking  to  see  who  the  mysterious 
stranger  might  be.  If  1  had  taken  that  trouble,  I  should 
have  seen  Uncle  Keith,  in  his  old  felt  hat  and  gingham 
umbrella,  walking  rapidly  down  the  street,  intent  on  some 
domestic  business,  and  should  hardly  have  burst  into  the 
room  in  that  unceremonious  fashion. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Agatha!"  I  exclaimed,  reproachfully, 
"  why  did  you  not  come  up  to  me?"  and  then  I  stood 
transfixed  with  astonishment.  There '  was  a  tall  gentle- 
man standing  by  the  window  talking  to  Aunt  Agatha,  who 
turned  round  abruptly  as  I  opened  the  door.  It  was  Mr. 
Hawtry! 

I  suppose  I  must  have  looked  very  stupid,  standing 
there,  unable  to  speak  in  my  surprise;  for  he  certainly 
laughed  as  he  came  forward  and  shook  hands  with  me, 
and  yet  he  seemed  a  little  nervous  too. 

"I  see  you  do  not  believe  your  eyes,  Miss  Fenton,  and 
yet  it  is  really  I  myself,  Roger  Hawtry. "  And  then  he 
laughed  again.  Yes,  I  was  sure  he  was  nervous. 

"  My  dear  child,  what  good  wind  has  blown  you  to  us 
this  afternoon?"  exclaimed  Aunt  Agatha,  putting  her 


arms  round  me.  "  I  had  no  idea  who  the  visitor  was  until 
Ezra  told  us  just  now." 

"  It  was  Uncle  Keith  then  who  went  out?"  I  stam- 
mered, for  I  was  unaccountably  confused.  "  He  told  me 
you  were  engaged;  why  did  he  not  say  it  was  Mr.  Hawtry? 
He  pretended  it  was  somebody  on  business."  But  here  1 
stopped,  for  Aunt  Agath&  was  making  a  funny  face,  as 
though  she  were  trying  to  keep  grave,  and  Mr.  Hawtry  had 
become  very  red  all  at  once,  -and  turned  to  the  window. 

"  Why  should  I  not  have  business  with  your  friend  Mr. 
Hawtry,  Merle?"  "Why  did  she  call  him  my  friend,  1 
wonder?  Had  she  forgotten  my  position  and  his?  Aunt 
Agatha  was  never  awkward;  she  had  more  savoir  fairs 
than  most  people.  If  it  were  not  incredible,  I  could  almost 
have  believed  she  was  nervous  too. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  I  returned,  rather  lamely;  "  you 
and  Mr.  Hawtry  are  strangers."  But  at  this  he  came  for- 
ward again. 

"  This  is  my  first  introduction  to  Mrs.  Keith,  certain- 
ly," he  said,  quickly;  "  but  I  can  not  allow  we  are 
strangers,  Miss  Fenton.  You  have  already  made  me  so 
well  acquainted  with  your  aunt  that  1  ventured  to  do  my- 
self the  pleasure  of  calling  upon  her.  I  consider  we  know 
each  other  quite  well  now. " 

I  thought  Aunt  Agatha  looked  pleased  at  that.  She 
had  a  pretty  color  this  afternoon,  as  though  she  were  ex- 
cited, and  yet  I  have  heard  Uncle  Keith  say  that  if  the 
queen  were  to  call  on  his  wife  she  would  not  be  discom- 
posed; but  there  were  several  little  signs  that  told  me  she 
was  not  quite  at  her  ease. 

"  I  must  see  about  tea,"  she  said,  getting  up  a  little 
abruptly.  "  I  dare  say  you  can  amuse  Mr.  Hawtry  for  a 
few  minutes,  Merle.  He  can  tell  you  all  about  Mrs.  Eos- 
eiter." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  1  returned,  carelessly,  "  I  shall  be  so  glad 
to  hear  all  the  Nethertou  news.  Have  you  been  to 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

Wheeler's  Farm  lately,  Mr.  Hawtry,  and  seen  Molly? 
And  how  is  Luke  Armstrong  getting  on?  And  is  the  cot- 
tage pretty?" 

'*  Am  I  to  answer  all  these  questions?"  he  pleaded. 
"  And  which  am  I  to  take  first?  By  the  bye,  your  friend 
Mrs'.  Eossiter  has  sent  you  a  message.  I  did  not  know  I 
should  see  you  to-day,  or  1  would  have  brought  it  with  me. 
It  is  a  floral  message,  Miss  Fen  ton,  and  tells  its  own 
story." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"REAPING  THE  HARVEST." 

I  WISHED  Mr.  Harvey  would  sit  down  and  talk  to  me  in 
his  usual  friendly  fashion;  but  he  kept  fidgeting  about  the 
room,  taking  up  books  and  laying  them  down  all  the  time 
that  I  was  plying  him  with  questions  about  Marshlands, 
and  Gay,  and  Mr.  Eossiter. 

After  the  first  moment  of  blank  astonishment  1  was 
really  very  pleased  to  see  him.  1  could  hardly  now  believe 
it  was  Mr.  Hawtry  who  was  moving  so  restlessly  from  the 
table  to  the  window.  He  looked  browner  than  ever,  and 
very  strong  and  well,  and  I  nearly  forgot  to  ask  after  his 
broken  leg. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  right  now,"  he  answered,  absently.  He 
was  certainly  very  absent,  very  unlike  himself.  I  think  I 
talked  all  the  faster,  because  in  my  heart  I  felt  nervous 
too. 

"  You  are  coming  down  to  Marshlands  next  week,  I 
hear,"  he  said  at  last,  stopping  straight  before  me. 

"  Yes,  we  are  all  coming,"  I  answered,  joyously;  "  Mrs, 
Morton  and  the  new  baby,  and  Mrs.  Morris." 

"  Who  in  the  world  is  M^rs.  Morris?"  he  asked,  rather 
impatiently.  It  was  a  droll  sort  of  impatience,  but  I 
thought  he  looked  anxious. 

Mrs.  Morris  is  baJm'*  nurse  at  present,     fShe  is  going 


" 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  21? 

to  stay  until  September;  and  then  T  shall  take  her  place, 
and  baby  will  bo  in  my  charge." 

<l  Oh,  that  is  nonsense!"  he  said,  quite  gruffly;  "  I  can 
not  allow  that  for  a  moment,  Miss  Fenton. ".  And  then, 
as  I  looked  astonished  at  this,  he  said,  in  an  odd  sort  of 
choked  voice,  l:  I  think  I  need  you  more  than  Mrs.  Morton 
does,  Merle." 

Are  we  capable  of  any  feeling  at  all  when  we  arrive  at 
the  crisis  of  our  life,  when  some  shock  comes  to  us,  up- 
heaving our  former  world,  and  overwhelming  us  with  sud- 
den chaos?  The  numb  intensity  that  seizes  upon  us  seems 
to  deaden  all  sensation. 

My  first  conscious  thought  was  that  I  had  known  all  the 
time  what  this  meant,  that  it  did  not  surprise  me  in  the 
least;  but  this  was  an  entire  falsity  on  my  part,  arising 
from  complete  incredulity.  Never  had  I  imagined  in  my 
wildest  dreams  that  life  held  such  a  gift  for  me;  but  I  was 
too  much  stunned  to  accept  it  unconditionally. 

I  put  aside  Mr.  Hawtry's  earnest  solicitations  that  I 
should  try  to  care  for  him  sufficiently  to  be  his  wife,  «ad 
wasted  much  precious  time  in  pointing  out  to  him  my  ap- 
parent unfitness  for  such  a  position.  I  remember  J  sat 
there  with  cold  hands  and  burning  face,  arguing  against 
myself  and  lamenting  my  deficiencies,  till  I  broke  down  at 
last,  and  could  not  find  voice  to  tell  him  more. 

He  heard  me  with  a  sort  of  tender  impatience  visible  in 
his  manner,  but  he  did  not  interrupt  me  as  long  as  my 
voice  and  courage  lasted.  When  my  shamefaced  remarks 
were  ended,  he  said,  very  gently: 

"  What  nonsense  you  have  been  talking!  I  should  hard- 
ly have  believed  that  such  a  sensible  girl  could  say  such 
things.  Do  you  want  a  list  of  my  deficiencies  and  short- 
comings also?  Shall  we  make  out  a  tabular  demonstra- 
tion of  each  other's  defects?  No,  Merle,  this  is  not  the 
question  between  us.  I  respect  and  honor  you  more  than 

citn  tell  you,  and  nothing  you  have  said  can  influence  urj 


318  MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

in  the  .least.  What  I  want  to  know  now  is,  can  you  care 
far  me  sufficiently  to  be  willing  to  marry  ine?" 

After  that  there  was  only  one  answer  possible.  I  did 
care  for  Mr.  Hawtry,  and  I  told  him  so. 

His  gratitude  seemed  overwhelming.  But  1  am  afraid  I 
was  rather  stupid  and  irresponsive.  My  sudden  happiness 
dazzled  and  bewildered  me;  but  I  think  he  understood 
how  I  felt.  He  told  me  he  had  cared  for  me  almost  the 
first  time  he  spoke  to  me,  and  his  interest  had  been  excited 
by  my  choice  of  work;  that  I  had  seemed  to  him  more  real 
and  earnest  and  self-denying  than  other  girls,  but  he  had 
respected  me  too  much  to  intrude  himself  too  suddenly  on 
my  life.  He  had  let  me  go  reluctantly,  hoping  to  see  me 
soon  again,  but  his  cousin's  illness  and  his  own  accident 
had  kept  us  long  apart. 

"  I  had  plenty  of  leisure  time  for  thinking  of  you, 
Merle,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  when  I  was  lying  up  with  my 
broken  leg.  Edgar  did  his  best  for  me,  but  with  all  bis 
good  nursing,  poor  fellow,  I  thought  a  woman's  haiad 
would  have  been  softer  about  me.  Do  you  remember  wy 
telling  you,  dear,  that  I  wished  Agnes  could  have  known 
you?  I  meant  to  try  and  win  you  for  my  wife  then." 

I  seemed  to  grow  calmer  and  quieter  while  he  talked  to 
me  in  this  way.  He  was  so  very  gentle  that  I  soon  gr«?w 
less  shy  with  him;  but  still  it  seemed  to  me  wonderful, 
almost  a  miracle,  that  any  one  so  good  and  kind  should 
care  for  me. 

We  had  forgotten  Aunt  Agatna  until  Mr.  Hawtry — but 
he  told  me  that  I  should  have  to  call  him  Roger — spoke  of 
her.  It  seems  he  was  telling  her  all  about  his  hopes  when 
I  rang  at  the  bell.  He  was  embarrassed  himself  at  the 
sight  of  me. 

"Your  aunt  and  I  agreed  upon  one  point,"  he  said, 
rather  mischievously,  for  I  had  asked  him  not  to  praise  ine 
so;  but  he  was  not  able  to  finish  his  speech,  for  Aunt 
Agatha  herself  interrupted  us. 


ME  219 

Mr.  Hawtry  met  her  at  the  door  and  said  something  t« 
her  in  a  low  voice.  I  saw  her  dear  face  light  up  and  the 
tears  come  into  her  eyes,  and  then  she  held  out  her  arms 
to  me. 

<fc  Is  it  really  so,  Merle,  dear  child?  1  wish  you  every 
happiness.  I  know  your  friend  very  little,  it  is  true;  but 
all  the  same  I  feel  sure  we  may  trust  you  to  him."  And 
then  she  and  Mr.  Hawtry  shook  hands;  and  I  liked  the 
way  they  looked  at  each  other. 

TJncle  Keith  was  fidgeting  for  his  tea,  and  no  wonder, 
for  it  was  nearly  an  hour  after  the  usual  time.  Kind, 
thoughtful  Aunt  Agatha!  He  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  room  looking  at  his  watch,  but  he  thumped  it  in  his 
pocket  when  he  entered,  and  said  "  Hir-rumph!"  and  if 
ever  a  man  looked  pleased  when  Aunt  Agatha  put  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  Uncle 
Keith  did  at  that  moment. 

He  wished  us  joy  very  nicely,  though  he  cleared  his 
throat  a  great  deal  over  it,  as  though  he  were  rather  em- 
barrassed, but  his  eyes  -twinkled  every  time  he  looked  at 
us,  and  1  knew  by  the  way  he  talked  to  Mr.  Hawtry  that 
he  liked  him;  indeed,  they  got  on  very  well  together. 

When  tea  was  over,  we  all  sat  at  the  open  bay-window 
in  the  drawing-room,  talking  very  happily.  Aunt  Agatha 
and  I  sat  hand  in  hand  on  the  couch,  but  Mr.  Hawtry  was 
very  near  us. 

It  was  twilight  presently,  and  there  was  only  a  glimmei 
of  light  in  the  road  outside.  The  moon  had  not  yet  risen, 
but  there  was  a  star  or  two  in  the  dark-blue  sky.  The 
room  was  sweet  with  scented  geranium  and  roses;  a  moth 
flew  in  at  the  open  window  and  brushed  against  us.  Somo 
children  were  singing  in  the  distance.  How  still  iind 
peaceful  it  was!  Aunt  Agatha  and  I  grew  silent  pres 
er.tly  while  the  other,-;  talked.  It  was  nice  to  list. 
tlcm;  their  VOICCH  sc.cmed  to  blend  with  a  dream — a  ha]> 
•«>am  thai  Was  it  <ml\ 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

ing  of  the  day  when  Hannah  had  talked  to  me  about  th« 
brindled  cow?  I  had  crossed  the  bridge  so  carelessly  that 
afternoon  in  the  sunshine,  never  dreaming  that  it  would 
lead  me  to  a  new  life. 

The  moon  had  risen  when  we  crossed  it  an  hour  later; 
the  whole  world  seemed  bathed  in  its  pure  white  radiance. 
Everything  was  transfigured,  even  the  silent  cranes  and 
pulleys  and  blocks  of  stone  were  touched  with  radiance  or 
emitted  strange  shadows.  The  gray  towers  of  All  Saints 
stood  out  clearly  against  the  blue  sky.  Kipples  of  irides- 
cent light  played  on  the  river — silvery  gleams  of  brightness 
with  a  margin  of  blue-blackness.  I  remembered  that  we 
talked  little,  but  that  our  silence  held  a  world  of  meaning 
in  it.  When  Mr.  Hawtry  spoke,  it  was  of  his  mother  and 
Agnes.  He  had  dearly  loved  them,  and  his  was  a  faithful 
nature;  it  did  not  bury  its  dead  out  of  sight  and  cease  to 
lament  them.  There  were  household  niches  left  vacant, 
where  the  tenderest  memories  were  enshrined. 

It  promised  well  for  my  future  that  this  was  the  case. 
The  loving  son  and  brother  would  surely  be  a  faithful  hus- 
band. 1  know  that  I  listened  to  him  with  a  full  heart, 
that  all  sorts  of  tender  vows  and  silent  prayers  and  inaudi- 
ble thanksgivings  seemed  to  frame  themselves.  As  1 
walked  beside  him  I  thought  of  Gay's  artless  speech,  "  Do 
we  any  of  us  deserve  our  happiness?"  Oh,  no;  she  was 
right;  it  is  a  free  gift  received  from  the  All-Father. 

Mr.  Hawtry  bade  me  good-bye  at  the  door,  but  our  part- 
ing was  not  for  long.  I  knew  I  should  see  him  in  the 
morning. 

Hannah  seemed  a  little  startled  when  she  saw  me. 
"  How  late  you  are,  Miss  Fenton!  1  was  just  wondering 
what  had  become  of  you;"  and  then  her  eyes  opened  rather 
widely.  "  Has  anything  happened,  for  yon  look  different 
somehow?" 

J  had  not  meant  to  tell  uuy  one  that  night;  but  Hannah 
was  trustworthy  and  faithful,  and  J  y  fond  cf  her* 


MT3KLK  S    CRUSADE. 


"  Nothing  has  happened,"  F  rot-iimnl,  with  H  SHIUM]  care- 
lessness, "  except  thri  Mr.  Haw  try  wus  ;it  Aunt  A^athn/s.  " 

"  Mr.  Hawtry,  miss!"  with  a  shrill  crescendo  of  aston- 
ishment. 

"  Yes;  I  was  very  much  surprised  to  see  him,  as  you 
may  imagine;  arid  Hannah,  1  expect  I  shall  surprise  you 
too,  because  I  am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Hawtry." 

1  shall  never  forget  the  girl's  look;  her  rosy  face  turned 
quite  pale;  her  eyes  were  distended  with  wonder. 

"  You  are  going  to  marry  Squire  Hawtry,  Miss  Fen- 
ton!"  And  then  in  her  excitement  she  kissed  me  heartily, 
and  a  moment  afterward  begged  my  pardon  for  taking 
such  a  liberty.  "  You  must  forgive  me,  miss,  for  I  was 
almost  beside  myself  with  the  news." 

'*'  No  tense,  Hannah,  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  I  re- 
turned, blushingly. 

"  Oh,  but  you  will  be  Madame  Hawtry  some  day,"  re- 
plied Hannah,  humbly,  "  and  Luke's  only  a  farm  servant, 
and  Lyddy  also.  I  must  not  forget  the  difference  between 
us.  I  wish  you  joy,  Miss  Penton,  indeed  I  do.  Squire 
Hawtry  is  the  finest  gentleman  I  know,  and  Molly  says  the 
&me.  She  will  be  proud  and  glad  when  she  hears  the 
news  that  you  are  coming  to  the  Red  Farm." 

Hannah's  words  almost  took  my  breath  away.  I  was 
glad  when  she  bade  me  good-night  and  left  me  alone  with 
the  sleeping  children. 

I  crept  softly  to  the  window,  and  sat  for  some  time  look- 
ing over  the  moonlit  gardens.  I  felt,  with  a  sudden  thrill 
at  the  remembrance  of  Hannah's  words,  that  1  had  not 
realized  it  yet.  I  had  only  thought  of  Mr.  Hawtry  —  of  his 
wonderful  good  ness  and  kindness.  .It  had  not  entered  my 
mind  that  I  should  spend  my  life  at  the  Red  Farm. 

It  seemed  almost  too  good  to  be  true.  I  closed  my  eyes 
and  tried  to  imagine  it  all.  Should  I  ever  spend  long 
happy  days  in  that  drawing-room,  looking  out  on  the  bowl- 
ing-green? Should  I  sit  in  the  porch  and  see  the  privet 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE. 

hedge  and  the  walnut-tree  with  tho  Circular  seat,  and  smell 
the  jasmine  and  clematis? 

Squire  Hawtry 's  wife  at  the  Bed  Farm!  No,  I  could 
not  believe  it  yet.  I  remembered  how  I  had  sat  in  the  old 
nursery  at  Marshlands,  dreaming  of  all  sorts  of  things  in 
the  moonlight,  until  1  had  fallen  asleep.  Such  a  thought 
as  this  had  never  occurred  to  me.  I  had  imagined  myself 
an  old  woman,  sitting  by  a  solitary  fireside;  but  there  had 
been  no  Squire  Hawtry  riding  up  on  brown  Peter  then. 

It  was  long  before  I  could  sleep  that  night.  Many  a 
girl  in  my  position  has  felt  as  I  did,  loath  to  close  my  eyes 
on  that  happy  day.  One  sleeps  heavily  for  sorrow,  as  the 
disciples  did  in  the  moonlit  garden;  but  joy  seems  only  to 
keep  our  young  hearts  restless.  I  wondered  the  next 
morning  when  I  should  be  summoned  down  -  stairs.  1 
knew  Mr.  Hawtry  would  come  early  and  bring  Gay's 
flowers  with  him,  but  he  would  not  ask  for  me  at  once. 

Presently  a  message  came  up  to  the  nursery  that  Han- 
nah was  to  take  the  children  into  the  public  garden.  I 
knew  what  this  meant:  Mr.  Hawtry  had  told  my  mistress. 
I  dressed  the  children  as  quickly  as  possible,  thinking  that 
I  should  be  sent  for  every  minute;  but  it  was  some  time 
before  I  heard  anything;  then  my  mistress  came  up  to  me 
herself,  with  Gay's  basket  of  flowers  in  her  hand.  I  saw 
she  was  much  moved.  Her  lovely  eyes  were  full  of  tears 
as  she  came  up  to  me. 

"  Roger  has  told  me,  Merle.  Perhaps  1  ought  not  to 
have  been  so  surprised.  It  Is  not  strange,  after  all,  that 
he  should  love  you;  he  must  have  seen  for  himself  how 
brave  and  good  you  were.  I  like  him  all  the  better  for 
loving  you."  And  then  she  kissed  me. 

She  said  a  great  deal  more  to  me,  holding  my  hand. 
She  was  so  glad  for  my  sake,  so  sorry  for  her  own,  for  she 
would  miss  me  so  out  of  her  daily  life;  but  she  would  not 
speak  of  that. 

"  Roger  is  waiting  for  you  in  the  little  drawing-room," 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  323 

slio  said,  at  last.  "  I  ought  not  to  detain  you  any  longer. 
To-morrow  we  will  have  a  long  talk.  But  he  wishes  to  see 
Alick  first.  Do  not  keep  him  waiting  any  longer,  Merle/' 

I  went  down  at  once,  for  I  knew  he  could  not  wait  long, 
as  he  had  other  business.  It  was  strange,  and  yet  familiar, 
to  see  him  again;  but  he  soon  thawed  my  shyness,  and  we 
had  a  nice  long  talk.  He  was  going  to  dine  there  that 
night,  but  he  said  he  should  not  see  me.  The  next  day  he 
meant  to  take  me  down  to  Putney,  to  spend  his  last  even- 
ing with  me,  as  he  must  return  to  Netherton  the  next 
morning. 

"  Never  mind,  1  shall  see  you  veYy  often  there,"  I  re- 
plied, cheerfully;  for  I  quite  understood  the  difficulty  of 
seeing  each  other  under  my  mistress's  roof. 

"  Indeed  I  hope  so,"  he  returned,  with  rather  a  strange 
smile,  "  if  the  Bed  Farm  is  to  be  your  home." 

But,  of  course,  1  was  speaking  of  our  visit  to  Marsh- 
lands, but  he  seemed  as  if  he  would  not  understand;  he 
only  assured  me  very  seriously  that  he  would  see  me  as 
often  as  possible.  His  manner  troubled  me  a  little,  until 
he  begged  me  not  to  disturb  myself  about  any  future 
arrangements,  as  he  and  Mrs.  Morton  were  considering 
what  to  do  for  the  best,  and  I  was  only  to  think  of  him. 

It  certainly  was  rather  strange  sitting  in  the  nursery 
that  evening,  and  knowing  that  Mr.  Hawtry  was  down- 
stairs; but  1  felt  instinctively  it  would  be  quite  as  hard  for 
him  as  for  me,  so  I  comforted  myself  with  the  prospert  of 
the  next  day.  My  mistress  came  up  presently  with  some 
beautiful  flowers  in  her-  hand. 

"  Roger  has  sent  yom  these,  Merle,  to  wish  you  good- 
night. He  was  obliged  to  go  early;  but  1  have  a  message 
to  give  you  as  well.  He  hopes  that  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  listen  to  me  very  patiently,  and  that  you  will 
accede  to  our  wishes. " 

I  felt  this  was  a  little  solemn,  and  my  face  certainly  felJ 
when  my  mistress  said,  yery  gently,  that,  under  existing 


MERLE'S 

circumstances,  her  husband  and  she  herself  thought  that  >t 
would  be  far  better  for  me  not  to  go  to  Marshlands  next 
week. 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  part  with  you  so  soon,  Merle/'  she 
said,  kindly;  "  but  for  Roger's  sake  we  think  it  better  to 
leave  you  behind.  You  see,  your  position  in  our  household 
makes  things  rather  difficult.  It  is  quite  true,  as  Alick 
saysy  that  in  marrying  you  he  is  marrying  a  gentlewoman; 
but  the  Netherton  and  Orton  folk  are  sad  gossips,  and 
altogether  things  would  be  somewhat  uncomfortable  for 
you  both." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  put  Mr.  Hawtry  in  an  uncomfortable 
position,"  1  said,  with  a  touch  of  my  old  pride;  but  she 
shook  her  head  at  me,  still  smiling. 

' '  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  whac  Roger  says;  he  simply 
glories  in  your  work.  He  is  quite  willing  to  publish  the 
whole  thing  to  the  Netherton  world  at  once.  He  told  me 
quite  seriously  just  no\fr  that  there  was  not  a  lady  in  the 
place  to  compare  with  you  He  honors  you  as  only  a  true 
man  can  honor  a  woman." 

The  tears  came  into  my  eyes.  Yes,  I  knew  this.  I  an- 
swered humbly  that  I  did  not  mean  to  be  proud;  I  would 
do  as  he  and  my  mistress  wished. 

"  Then,  if  you  are  so  generous,  Merle/'  she  said,  quiet- 
ly, "  you  will  not  come  to  Marshlands  just  now,  to  involve 
Roger  in  all  sorts  of  perplexing  difficulties;  or,  at  least, 
if  you  come  it  must  be  as  my  guest,  and  not  as  my  nurse." 

"  Oh,  no,"  I  returned,  shrinking  back;  *'  I  was  not 
prepared  for  this. " 

"  Then,  my  dear  Merle,  will  you  act  as  a  sensible  wom- 
an? Stay  with  Mrs.  Keith  during  our  absence,  and  quietly 
prepare  for  your  wedding.  Roger  thinks  in  October  both 
you  and  he  might  be  ready." 

The  idea  startled  me.  What  would  Aunt  Agatha  say? 
But  I  very  soon  found  Aunt  Agatha  was  quite  of  my 
mistress's  opinion,  and  was  almost  as  eager  as  Mrs.  Mor- 


MERLE'S  CRUSADE.  225 

ton  to  smooth  things  as  much  as  possible  for  Mr.  Haw- 
try.  After  the  first  shock  of  my  surprise,  1  came  gradu- 
ally to  the  same  conviction.  Mr.  Havvtry  said  very  little 
to  me  on  the  subject;  on  the  contrary,  he  laughed  to  scorn 
the  idea  that  my  serviee  was  derogatory  to  him. 

"  I  loved  you  first  because  you  were  so  brave  and  uncon- 
ventional— because  you  were  unlike  any  other  girl.  Why 
should  you  say  such  things  to  me,  Merle:"' 

And  after  that  I  ceased  to  say  them;  but  how  I  honored 
him  for  that  manly  expression  of  opinion!  But  his  very 
generosity  made  demands  on  me.  I  knew  his  home  was 
solitary,  and  that  he  needed  my  companionship.  He  was 
too  unselfish  to  press  his  wishes  on  me,  but  he  evidently 
saw  no  reasons  for  delay. 

I  yielded  with  a  good  grace  at  last,  when  I  found  even 
Aunt  Agatha  was  against  me;  but  neither  she  nor  Mr. 
Hawtry  knew  what  it  cost  me  to  part  so  soon  with  my  mis- 
tress and  the  children.  It  almost  broke  my  heart  to  see 
them  go  without  me. 

Mrs.  Morris  had  promised  to  remain  until  Christmas; 
but  Hannah  would  be  married  before  then,  and  I  wondered 
sadly,  as  I  drove  with  my  luggage  to  the  cottage,  who 
would  replace  me  at  Prince's  Gate. 

"  In  the  morning  sow  thy  seed,  and  in  the  evening  with- 
hold not  thy  hand."  How  those  words  came  to  me  a 
month  later,  when  one  of  my  old  school-fellows,  Helen 
Transome,  wrote  to  me  and  begged  rue  to  use  my  influence 
with  my  mistress  and  procure  the  situation  for  her! 

I  knew  her  sad  circumstances  would  appeal  to  my  mis- 
tress's feeling  heart.  Poor  Helen!  hers  had  been  a  trying 
life.  Her  family  had  suffered  great  reverses;  from  wealth 
they  had  been  reduced  almost  to  indigence.  Her  father 
had  died,  worn  out  wiih  the  bitter  si  niggle,  and  her  lover 
had  given  her  up  for  a  richer  bride. 

Helen  hail  borne  her  tronMesi  with  a  patience  that  bor- 
ft  heroism;  ImtjUufcl  brokw  ;ngs  of 


She  looked  far  elder  than  her  years  warranted,  and  much 
of  her  beauty  had  faded;  but  she  was  fair  and  gentle-look- 
ing, with  soft  manners,  that  seemed  to  win  my  mistress. 
Her  love  of  children  was  evident;  she  had  a  quiet  influence 
with  them  that  made  itself  felt. 

"  Miss  Transome  will  never  take  your  place,  Merle/' 
my  mistress  said  to  me,  a  few  weeks  after  Helen  had  taken 
up  my  work;  "  but  she  is  very  nice  and  kind  to  the  chil- 
dren, and  Mrs.  Morris  says  1  shall  be  able  to  trust  baby  to 
her.  I  do  believe  the  poor  thing  looks  a  little  happier 
already.  1  went  in  just  now,  and  heard  her  laughing  at 
something  Joyce  said.  She  has  such  a  silvery,  pretty 
laugh." 

I  knew  that  my  mistress  would  soon  take  poor  Helen 
into  her  heart,  and  I  was  glad  to  think  she  had  found  such 
a  kind  refuge.  We  did  not  speak  much  of  Helen  then;  I 
was  paying  my  good-bye  visit  to  Prince's  Gate,  for  two 
days  later  I  was  to  be  married. 

They  had  loaded  me  with  beautiful  gifts  suitable  to  my 
new  position;  but  I  was  not  thinking  of  them  or  of  my 
mistress's  last  loving  speech  as  I  walked  across  the  bridge. 
It  was  October  again,  and  the  red  and  yellow  leaves  were 
floating  on  the  water;'  the  mellow  air  and  sunshine  spoke  of 
harvests  garnered  in  while  the  earth  rested  after  her  labors. 

My  harvest  had  come  already,  and  yet  the  laborer  had 
worked  but  a  short  time  in  the  vineyard,  while  others 
would  toil  until  evening.  1  had  done  so  little  and  reaped 
so  much.  Through  the  slanting  sunbeams  1  looked  to  the 
distant  home  where  Roger  was  waiting  for  me,  in  that 
home  where,  God  willing,  we  should  work  together,  not 
leading  idle  lives,  but  sharing  with  others  a  little  of  our 
happiness,  and  where,  out  of  our  full  hearts,  we  should 
surely  give  "  praise  continually;"  and  as  these  thoughts 
came  to  me,  1  seemed  to  hear  Roger's  deep  voice  echoing 
"Amen." 

THE  ESflfc,  , 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


27Aor'59AB 


REC'D  LD 


'APR  15  lfl«9 


REC'D  LD 


MAR  9    1962 


LD  21A-50m-9,'58 
(6889slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


Y873I97 


970340 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


.THE  CELEBRATED 

SOHMER 

Iliads  the  List  of  the    Highest=0rade  Pianos,  t 


Art  the 

favorite 
if  the  Artist 


and  the 
refined 
Musical  pub 


Genuine  SOHMER   Piano  has  the  following  Tra 
mark   stamped   upon   the 


[         SOHMER   &   CO., 

NEW    TOBB     «V\&BEBOOMS; 

•Amer  Building  Fistn  Avenue,  Cor.  22d  Strei 


lHc  will 


th«  ren, 


